


The Right Side Of Rock Bottom

by Kendrene, Lowiiie



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Anya, Alpha Lexa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff and Smut, G!p Anya, G!p Lexa, Knotting, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Clarke, Porn With Plot, Rape, Rape Recovery, Suicide, Werewolves, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6665389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lowiiie/pseuds/Lowiiie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haunted by grief and packless Clarke flees to the United States, hoping a new job and a fresh start will help her put herself back together. Yet the little Maine town she settles into is not what she expects and she will find herself involved in a war between rival Packs, forced to pick a side against her will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lowiiie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lowiiie/gifts), [Luxi_Storyteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxi_Storyteller/gifts).



> I have been all over New England, but never to Calais- I could have made up a fictional border town, but I like to use real landmarks when possible. Any inaccuracy is totally my fault. 
> 
> Also, this is my first attempt at the G!p subgenre (can I call it that?) so please be lenient. If you have any suggestions do not hesitate to let me know. Kudos and comments are always treasured and I try to reply to everyone. 
> 
> Finally, since a very sensitive theme will be treated in the story, please read at your own discretion. I will put up appriopriate warnings in the notes when the time comes.

-Clarke-

 

This car ride never seems to end.

I take a hand off the wheel and rub at my eyes tiredly, the white lines on the tarmac blurring over, then doubling for a moment. _Maybe I should stop._ It’s not the first time I have thought about taking a break, but then I glance at the shiny new GPS equipped in this shiny new rental car and read my ETA.

_Fuck it. I can hold on for an half hour._

But I do also need a dunny. Shifting in the seat I try to ease the cramps in my lower back and legs, then give up with a sigh. I am a big city girl, used to public transport or walking where I need to be and 4 hour drives to the middle of fucking nowhere aren’t really my thing. Hell, it takes a whole new level of concentration to remind myself they drive on the wrong side of the road here. The fact that night has finally swallowed the road ahead doesn't help any.

 

 

> Seriously, no metric system, not even imperial. It's like they want to fuck with foreigners. Actually, they probably do.

My exit comes up and the robotic voice of the GPS chimes in, interrupting my head monologue,

“Yeah, I can see where to go,” I growl over the flat tones of the pseudo female voice that gives me directions a minute too late.

The road narrows as more and more signs for Calais start popping up, illuminated briefly by the car's headlights. My head starts lolling forward again so I roll down the window and the chilly air swooshes inside, slapping my face into complete alertness. It brings the smells of the forest I am traversing right to my nose and I feel my insides twist with longing. I have not let my wolf out since….

_No. Don’t go there Clarke._

Too late. Images of fire and pain flood my mind and I tighten the hold I have on the steering wheel, to the point my hands start to ache. Something _big_ flashes in front of me, and there is just time for my eyes to widen in panic, then a thud, the shattering of glass and the car spins out of control before stuttering to a jarring halt, as I am slammed forward against my seat belt, then slammed back by the deploying airbag. The world dissolves into pain and swallows me and, when it spits me out, everything hurts.

“Crap.” Slowly my neck moves from side to side as I assess damage. Nothing broken I think, I _will be_ broke though. Whatever I hit must have been big. When the thumping of my heart into my ears quietens, I carefully open my eyes a fraction. The road ahead has been plunged into darkness, both of the car's lights smashed, but I can sense more than see the torn hood, rearing up at the wrong angle.

 

 

> Have you ever felt so embarrassed you could feel the redness creep from the points of your ears downwards, until everything tingles and burns and you feel like your bladder is gonna give, and embarrass you further? That's how I felt when I went through three cards before finding one that would not get declined at the Avis counter in Portland's airport. When I said broke, I meant it.

I grunt and grope for the seat belt's release, then push the door open and slide out of the car. Wobbly legs give way and I crawl out on my knees, the tarmac scratching the palms of my hands. Breathing is easier, and I gulp great lungfuls of frigid air, trying to clear my mind. A soft moan comes from the front of the car, and I realize with horror whatever animal I ran over is still alive.

 

 

> If people knew what I am, they'd think I would slaver at the unexpected feast. I love meat and will never say no to a medium rare stake, but eating roadkill off the hood of a car is not my idea of a gourmet dinner. Maybe it's best most people don't know about us – when they do, things tend to get very bad, very quickly.

I shudder, but before I can make up my mind on what to do about it, a beam of light blinds me and I throw an arm over my teary eyes as a truck screeches to a stop a few meters away. A door slams then footsteps hurry towards me and firm hands roll me over. I don't know when I ended laying face down, but I feel the rough surface of the road pressing against my cheek.

“Ow.” Bruises makes themselves known as my body is shifted, ever so gently and the yelp escapes me before I can snap my teeth shut on it.

“Sorry,” the voice is as soft as the touch and, as I blink frantically, details start to click into place. The face hovering above me is half bathed in stark light and I discern long hair, the hard line of a jaw that softens as she smiles down at me, when our eyes meet. Grey eyes, like a stormy sky. I struggle to sit up, and I feel her arm snake around my shoulders. My first instinct is to shake her off and pull away, but I clench my jaw and let her help.

 

 

> I hate to be touched. The only time I feel comfortable having people close to me is on the job. It wasn't always like this, _I_ wasn't always like this, but things change.

“Are you all right?” her voice, full of concern, brings me back to the present. She is crouched in front of me, a hand still on my shoulder, steadying me. I nod as the adrenaline and the shock of the accident drain away.

“I hit...” I trail off, unable to name the animal I collided with and her eyes go to the darkened road ahead. They glint silver as they catch the brightness coming off her headlights.

“Deer I guess,” I feel a pang of shame and sorrow. Me, the foreign invader slaughtering local fauna. Her tone is far from accusing though. She pats my shoulder reassuringly, as if reading my thoughts.

“Happens a lot up these parts,” she gestures to the lights and adds, “they pop out on the road and the light blinds them and they go _tharn_.”

I am unfamiliar with the term, but I loathe showing ignorance so I just make a non-committal sound I hope she takes as agreement and again try to push to my feet. Her hold is strong, like she is used to manual work and I have to admit I would probably not make it to my feet without support. Normally my wolf would be balking at the prolonged contact, but there is something in my “rescuer” that both attracts me and nags me at the same time. I push the thought to the back of my head, as she steers me towards her truck and I try to resist.

“I don't think your car is going anywhere,” she points out and I hate that I have to agree. I am not a car expert, but I can tell that much. Besides, I admit bitterly as my vision doubles from pain and not exhaustion, I am in no condition to drive.

She pushes me firmly to the passenger's seat, her hands guiding me steadily before my body stops in protest again. The seat is worn and comfortable and despite my best intentions I lean into it with a grateful sigh. Even my teeth seem to ache.

“Bags,” I mumble weakly as my eyes threaten to close down on me, “in the back...” Maybe the shock is worse than I thought, because suddenly cold shivers wrack my limbs.

“Got it,” she disappears and, to fight off the numbness, I take a look at the inside of her car. My father always said you can learn a great deal about people from the way they keep their cars.

The truck is old and worn, yet clean and lovingly kept. The rear view mirror has been carefully taped into place, which tells me she is either broke (a kindred soul!) or really attached to the car. My eyes wander to the glove compartment; the lid is missing and I see the car papers and a number of maps stick out. I never needed a car before coming here and the one I rented felt pristine, too much so. This car is different, it's lived in, careworn and it even smells like _her_.

 

 

> It must be a constant of my life, not leaving a trace wherever I go. But I digress.

My bags are dumped in the back of the pick-up with a loud clang and I jump a little as she climbs on the driver's seat next to me.

“You alive?” She quips, but is only half joking. I must look like shit.

“I just…” I shrug and immediately regret it as my shoulders and neck start to throb dully. “I was not expecting my first day here to be so eventful.” She maneuvers the truck around the wrecked car and shards of glass glitter like diamond dust on the tarmac. I know I shouldn’t, but I cannot help take in the spectacle of the still twitching deer laying across the road, blood almost black in the low light mixing with fluids leaking out of the bottom of the car. Surely insurance covers that. It must.

The thought sends slivers of regret to lodge into my heart. I should feel horrible for the deer and I do, but I cannot stop thinking about my rapidly draining bank account. I need to start working fast, and I don’t even know if I will be able to get out of bed come morning. Judging from the stabs of pain as I breathe, my chest is going to look like a piece of modern art.

“I called my brother,” she has followed my gaze and misinterprets my grimace, “he’ll be around soon to take care of the deer. He’ll tow your car into town too.”

“I am Clarke Griffin,” I hate being obligated to people, but I owe her my name and my thanks. I was not expecting people up here to be so open.

 

 

> Where I come from we are pretty laid back. Even in big cities, like Melbourne or Sidney, people always find a moment to chat or greet strangers even when rushing around. Portland was different, the little I saw of it at least. Everyone going somewhere fast, focused on their business without a second glance.

“Costia Crewes,” she gives me a sidelong glance and adds slowly, “you are the new doctor.”

I must be a picture of surprise because she laughs and shakes her head in apology.

“I am sorry, I was there when Jackson told the Mayor you had accepted his offer and I heard your name mentioned.”

I relax a little, feeling the balance in the conversation shift back to neutral ground. “So the whole town doesn’t know me on sight yet?” I really hope they don’t. When people hear about you from someone else, they tend to form an opinion based on partial truths that is hard to overcome. I am sure Jackson has not said anything negative about me, or the Mayor would not have me taking over as family doctor, but still… In tightly knit communities like this one seems to be, trust is a hard coin to earn.

“Give it a day,” her grin brightens the car’s interior for a moment, “it _is_ a small town.”

I can’t help but laugh with her and my ribs ache as my chest jolts with mirth. There is something about Costia I inherently like, and it makes me weary. My wolf is agitated too, but I want to imagine it’s due to the accident more than anything else, like immediate danger. I rub my forearm absentmindedly, feeling the sore spots left by the needles. I think I will need another dose sooner than normal because of the scare I got.

Her mention of my mother’s old friend prod my memory back into dangerous places, and I just choose to zoom in on Jackson’s emails. He reached out to me as everything had crumbled, leaving me lost and untethered, like a boat cut loose from mooring, drifting inevitably to the open sea. He had offered me a new start and I had leaped at the chance, everything urging me to flee, my inner wolf mad with grief.

I had packed the few things I wanted to carry with me quickly, tied up what businesses I had left and ran. I didn’t even stay for the funerals. People back home are probably telling each other what a horrible person I am.

_Home._

Even thinking the word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Try as I might, I cannot think of the rubble I left in my wake as home anymore. Jackson probably saved my life, and the man won’t even be around so I can thank him. He mentioned getting a good job in one of Boston’s hospitals, but I think there is more. Mom told me he had a girlfriend. I hope he can make it work. I hope he is happy.

“Where are you staying?”

We are driving into the town proper, and I realize she needs to know where to drop me off. I have taken a room at a local B&B – didn’t really have time to scout for an apartment and Jackson’s rent was way too steep for my current financial resources. It was nice of him to offer to pass the contract on to me though.

I am lucky it’s low season I guess and the B&B's owner, a certain Anya I-forgot-her-last-name was very accommodating, especially when I mentioned I would be taking over the local medical practice. If I decide to stay, I want my own place eventually but this will do for a while. I give her the address and we veer off onto a side road that snakes away from the center of the town and back into dark woodland.

The occasional houses flash past, blots of a paler color among the blackness of trees, until the road ends into a wide gravel expanse in front of an unabashedly Victorian house, sprawling and elegant in an eclectic sort of way. The details I can see as the car’s lights bathe the front are beautiful. It must look even better in daylight.

Costia gets out and comes around the car to open the door for me, then stands back, eyes warily trained on my body, as if she is expecting me to fall flat on my face as soon as I put my feet on the ground. I must have looked pretty pitiful when she stopped to assist me.

A light has been left on to cast a yellowish glow on the porch and the steps that lead to it, and another more feeble glow comes from a window on the ground floor.

“Come,” Costia walks beside me as we approach the house, “I will introduce you to Anya then get your stuff.” I know she means well, but her solicitude is starting to irk me. I am not an invalid. The darkness is a welcome shroud that lets me hide the irritation I would be too tired to keep from my features otherwise.

The door opens as we approach it, and a woman appears on the threshold. My heart stops, but not because she is savagely beautiful. Her musky scent fills my nose and my wolf responds with an howl that has me hissing in pain and want. Whether I just pushed everything to a boiling point or the suppressants have stopped working in the blink of an eye, her purely animal smell makes me stumble. My knees buckle and I panic, falling backwards down the steps before Costia has a chance to catch my flailing arm. It takes an age to hit the ground and as I do everything falls into place.

Jackson had me come to a Were town and I am sprawled on the doorstep of a bloody Alpha’s den.

_God help me_.

 

 

> But I know, because it has been shown to me, that there is no God.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Clarke's suppressants stop working, under the combined pressure of the accident's shock and Anya's presence, she is swept away by a raging heat. Will Anya succumb to her urges, or can Costia, another Omega, protect Clarke from being mated against her will?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say. I sinned. A lot.
> 
> As usual kudos and comments are treasured and appreciated. If you have any suggestions or questions, please feel free to sound off in the comments below. 
> 
> I apologize for the slow updates- eyes are giving me grief.

 

-Anya-

 

_She’s late._

I tap my fingers on the table, irritation and a yawn building inside me at the same time. I reach into my pocket and tap the phone awake, re-reading her last email for the hundredth time.

 

> From: griffin.clarke@outlook.com
> 
> To: anya.f@gmail.com
> 
> Tue 10/20/2015 5:55PM
> 
> **Subject: Re: Accommodation**
> 
> I just landed in Portland, Should be there in four hours without traffic. Thank you again for your kindness.
> 
> C 

I sigh and put the phone away as my eyes flick to the clock hanging over the fireplace. _Very late_. Even as I curse the damn foolish girl who probably got lost somewhere in the back country, I cannot help that a flutter of worry begins to stir in the pit of my stomach. What if something happened along the road? I think back at the day Jackson took me and Lexa aside, right around the time he was about to leave.

* * *

 

“ _Did you tell her what kind of town this is?” Lexa carefully shifts a box full of medical journals on the ground, freeing part of the couch so we can sit. As usual when I am so close to her I feel the air charge up with our combined power._

_The dark haired beta sighs and grabs a vacant chair, dropping down on it to face us._

“ _If I did, she would not come,” I watch as pain touches his features for a moment, making his whole face fall, “but she needs a pack. You know she will wither and die eventually otherwise,” he wrings his hands nervously, “if you can make her see she can have a Pack again…a mate…”_

_I know what he means. At the mention of a mate, my loins fill with warmth, and I feel my cock give an almost painful twinge. My heart fills with longing. As usual, my emotions are not lost to Lexa, who discreetly places two fingers against the back of my hand as his eyes remain trained on hers in quiet begging._

“ _Please Alpha,” he lowers his gaze and bares his neck to Lexa with a small whine, “I promised Abigail…if something happened…”_

_Lexa stands and is next to him in one quick stride. She places the softest kiss against his throbbing pulse, green eyes gentle._

“ _We will try and help her, to honor your promise, “ she shrugs, “I won’t force anything on her though. This isn’t the way of our Pack.” She steps back and tension seems to leak out of him like running water, “and Luna is your Alpha now,” she adds with a small smile. I see the change come over him at the mention of his new Pack leader and I know he has delayed his departure as long as he was able. His wolf wants him to go and be with the mate Lexa and Luna both encouraged him to court so he can sire his pups._

* * *

 

> Luna is one of our oldest friends, the Mystic Lakes pack much smaller than ours, but a close ally for generations. Traditionally, non-mated members of both Packs – those that want to – meet up to find potential mates. Mixing the bloodlines strengthens us and helps keep the ties of friendship intact. I stopped going a while ago. Omegas are rare and I never found one I wanted to knot and breed. I have resigned myself to seek a willing beta when I need to rut, or let Lexa and Costia help me. They are always welcoming me in their bed, but the intimacy is painful because despite their best intentions I want _more_. Costia loves me, but not the same way she loves Lexa. I am tied to her, but when her heat comes, their bed is forbidden to me. It is rare, but tolerated to share an Omega, but I want my own. A wolf, a mate that will make me feel tethered.

The clock chimes, mournfully loud. 11 p.m.

I stand up, I have had enough of this hard chair and of waiting for a stranger we promised we would help, who doesn't even have the decency to show up on time. And I have fucking had enough of the ugly piece of crap hanging on the wall. I would smash it into pieces, but Lexa gave it to me when I decided to turn the house into a bed and breakfast. For good luck, she said.

> At that time, I needed all the luck I could get. Besides, some snotty guy from NYC who boarded here gushed all over it, telling me what a fantastic piece it was and how much it would fetch if I decided to sell it. He was an appraiser or something. If things keep going as they have this past season, I may have to, if I want to eat.

The hands tick past the eleven engraved on the clock's surface, and I scowl fiercely, getting up and deciding to call it quits. She can sleep in the car when she gets here, or ring the bell hard enough to wake me. As I stand, every muscle in my body protesting after so much time being still in the same position, I hear a car approaching, gravel crunching noisily underneath the tires, and the headlights add light to the room briefly.

I heave a sigh, not sure if it is weariness or relief, and I go to open the door. When I do, I fill my lungs with the sweetness of the night's air then when another scent reaches my nose, I freeze quivering. My eyes widen in shock, as I take in the scene before me. She is bathed in the car's warm headlights, washing up against her back, and the glow ignites the newcomer's hair with sparks of gold, making her mane resemble a lion's. The porch's own light illuminates her face, softening but not erasing the shadows, and her eyes are the deepest shade of blue I have ever seen. They widen in panic as she lays them on me, and I see her nostrils flare, so I do not doubt my scent has hit her brain as hard as hers did mine.

> Jackson told us she would be on suppressants. He told us, he told us, he told us. I want to fuck her... fuckherfuckherfuckherfuckherfuckher... she is _mine_.

For the first time ever an Omega makes me weak in the knees and the step forward I take is more of a stumble. She is falling, arms flailing as she careens down the steps, and neither me nor Costia – whose presence I register only then- can do anything to prevent her from hitting the ground hard. I don't remember getting down the steps, but the gravel is digging into my knees as I go down next to her. My fingers extend, shaking wildly, but before I can lay a hand on her Costia has gathered the now unconscious girl in a protective embrace, almost curling around the limp body.

Her eyes are hard stone, black obsidian in the low light as they meet mine, but her voice is soft as velvet. “Don’t do something you will regret, Anya.”

I know what she refers to, still the wolf runs wild through my veins and I growl threateningly. She shows the whiteness of her teeth right back, the only instance in which an Omega will stand up to an Alpha occurring right between us. She cradles the girl, Clarke, to her chest, soothing her hair back as she starts to whimper, body clenching and the smell of her settling heat making the air redolent with her tang. I dig my nails into the ground, barely resisting the urge to throw Lexa’s mate down and use my will to subdue her until Costia is so whipped she will lay in a pool of her own piss.

> Omegas are a rare occurrence. While two Betas can give birth to an Alpha, but are more likely to spawn another Beta or an Omega, the only sure way for that to happen is for the Alpha to breed an Omega. It's also the only way Alphas can actually reproduce. I want pups, I want to take her and fill her with my seed and see her belly grow. I want her to be mine with every fiber of my being.

My cock stiffens inside my pants, pressing upwards in my briefs, the head engorged and rubbing against the seam of my jeans. Costia stands, cradling Clarke, arms and back straining until she regains her balance.

“Would you get her things?” her words seem to caress me and her eyes soften as she takes in my state, “please?”

I cling to the last shreds of sanity, my instinct clawing red, angry gauges into my vision and I manage to nod weakly, watching as she rushes Clarke inside, away from view. When they are gone, I can breathe a bit easier, but as I stand on shaky legs, my member, now fully erect, throbs against my underwear and I groan, hunched over, clutching at empty air. I shuffle to the car, fighting every step of the way to not about turn and catch up to Costia and when I get to her truck, I allow myself to look back, as a light is flicked on in one of the guestrooms, and a square of brightness appears in the courtyard. I do not need to hear the sound, to know the key is being turned, securing them inside.

> Not that a door could stop me, but deep, deep down I appreciate Costia’s intentions.

 

-Costia-

 

My back aches dully as I take the steps as fast as I can, leaning a shoulder against the wall, to help myself in the ascent. I know from the smell that Anya is still outside, but I will not take chances.

I am terrified.

I do not know how I managed to stop her, but I thank the stars and hope she keeps resisting Clarke’s call, praying that the shadow of her own past will be leash enough to restrain her. Inwardly, as I bend a knee to take the next step, the girl hot and sweaty against me, I curse Lexa for not telling me everything. Mostly I swear at myself for not realizing she is what I am, but the change in her was so rapid it has left me disconcerted. Clarke is like a sore, an open wound, red with anger, festering with loss.

I can feel her wolf now, and it desperately calls to me, filled with longing. All I want to do is take away her pain, but I do not know if I can help her overcome her heat. Because that's what it is, a full-fledged heat like I have never seen before or felt.

We get to the top of the stairs and I barge through the first open door. Just as my legs give out, I make it to the bed and I drop her on it somewhat unceremoniously. She moans and her eyes open slightly, her pupils dilated almost swallowing the sky-blue of her irises. Quickly but gently I undress her, her clothing soaked through with sweat. Clarke’s skin is clammy, cold and hot at the same time. I know that she must have a fever and she is shivering under my touch, yet when I place blankets on her she rebels as if overheating.

Finally I have her securely in bed, and I sit down beside her, my hand gently stroking her brow.

She turns into my touch, instinctively recognizing another Omega, and I feel her body relax slightly. My inner wolf surges forward, and my limbs tingle with its presence. I let it guide me and kick off my shoes, setting down on my side next to her, the quilt she lays under and my own clothes between us. I place one of my arms across her waist, and pull her as close as I dare. I can feel her muscles spasm slightly, the tendons in her neck standing out, as her whole body clenches and relaxes intermittently. I bend forwards, pressing my lips to her forehead, scalding skin burning my flesh, and at such close contact her eyes crack open, her will dredging her up from dreadful sleep and her own lips part.

“Costia,” the glaze covering her eyes dissipates for a moment and recognition fills them as she struggles to focus on me. My face hovers over hers almost touching and it seems my presence anchors her to wakefulness. Her tongue darts across cracked lips and she swallows painfully before speaking again.

“Where..?” she stops and coughs, and I gently pull away to get up and bring some water from the small bathroom. When she feels I shift to leave, her breath hitches higher in panic.

“You are safe,” I hide my own concerns and strike an air of confidence, my fingers playing along her jaw. “I have you.”

Her gaze never leaves me as I slowly make my way to the bathroom, grabbing an empty glass on the way. When I come back to her, she drains the liquid eagerly and then slumps back against the pillows, hair darkened by the sweat that keeps dampening her brow.

She appears lucid for the time being, but I know it will not last long, her heat allowing her a small reprieve before it swallows her whole again. She either needs to be mated or fucked and judging from her reaction to Anya, the first one is out of the question for the time being.

I feel the same protectiveness that filled me when she collapsed outside, swelling like the incoming tide. I do not know what to make of it, the only other Omega of our Pack dead before my family was allowed to move into these lands and Lexa made me hers, but my wolf knows what I _should_ do. I move close again, as I was before, my breath a slight sigh on her cheek.

“Is this your first heat?” my voice is a mere whisper. Clarke seems to trust me, but I can see the fright she is trying to hide, and the wrong word could make her spiral into an abyss of panic I would not be able to get her out of. I remember my own first time, soaking wet with a need that I did not understand, throbbing, needing release after release until I felt completely empty. It had been different for me though, I had belonged to the Pack and my own kin had been close by when it happened.

She shakes her head weakly, voice husked by need, “no, I had one before, but...I was prepared,” I read on her face that she knows this one will be far worse than the pale memory she recalls. I want to ask her why she was on suppressants for so long, but now is not the time. Furthermore she is a doctor, she must have seen plenty, but I also know she cannot reason clearly, ridden as she is by her surging beast.

“Let me help you,” my lips ghost over hers and she moans, eyes fluttering close as she shakes anew. I take that as assent and again I stand as relief washes over me. For the first time this night I realize I instinctively picked the same room Anya never rents out, the one she allows me to closet myself into when my own heats strike and Lexa is away on Pack business.

> I remember how terrifying it was, the only time that happened. We had calculated she would come back in time, but she had been held up and I had been alone and driven mad by my urges. Heats leave an Omega vulnerable, bare and in frenzy, unable to think beyond simple bodily functions. Anya had found me wandering naked in the forest, calf deep in fresh snow, and she had taken me here, giving me tools to relieve myself, guarding me until Lexa came back. I will do the same for Clarke if she will let me. 

I pad to the nearby closet and pull out a small box, hidden behind fresh towels and bedding, setting it down on the night table close at hand. I look down at Clarke, as I unbutton my shirt, and I see her eyes are open again, but unseeing, clouded by lust. The flannel slides off my shoulders, and I remove the tank top beneath, exposing myself slowly, her heat affecting me if not exactly contagious.

My pants and underwear follow the rest of my garments to the floor as I kick them away, then I uncover her tenderly and slide under the blankets, skin to skin.

She stiffens for an instant, but when my arms go around her and my lips find the pulse on her neck, sucking it in gently, her wolf takes hold and she surrenders to me. The salt of her sweat prickles my tongue, failing to mask the pain and sorrow underneath. I wonder briefly what has been done to her, to make her so brittle, but as her body responds to mine, I let the questions go. They will still be there after.

My mouth moves upwards, seeking hers, trailing fiery paths onto her flesh and when we meet the tenderness does not last long, engulfed by primal hunger, a flash of heat so strong to turn my good intentions into ashes.

I bite her lower lip, then soothe it with a swipe of my tongue, and we growl into each other’s mouth as we split control of the kiss equally, twisting it and juggling it around our duelling tongues. I am dimly aware of how different this contact is from those I share with Lexa, no urge to submit, but just to _be_ , me and Clarke existing in the same space for fleeting, precious moments.

I shift my weight onto her, pressing down breast against breast, hardened nipples rubbing together, eliciting waves of pleasure down our backs. She follows my guidance, spreading herself for me as I angle my hips into hers, my own wetness adding to her slick as we grind into each other. Our mounds collide, clits throbbing and engorged sliding easily together. She arches up into me and I nuzzle into her neck, lick her shoulder, her collarbone.

Our hips jerk and I feel her hands on my back, but where I expect the sharpness of nails, she strokes gentle caresses, before grabbing at my sides and holding me still against her, sex to sex and she releases onto me with a scream and a groan and a gush of warm fluids, sweeping me along with her. We collapse together, panting and as I kiss her slowly again, I know this isn’t nearly enough.

I free one of my hands, and grope for the box, pulling away slightly. She whimpers and my fingertips trace her lips as I hush her.

The double sided dildo enters me easily, instantly covered in my arousal and my loins tighten around it pleasantly. I crawl back onto her, hovering over her body, not quite touching. I see her blue eyes, stormy with desire, with the animal need to be filled, complete. I cannot give her everything she needs, but as my heart aches with her rawness I hope it will be enough.

I lean on one elbow, as my other hand slides slowly down her front, tickling under her breast, along the outline of her ribs, then lower, pressing on her quivering, hardened abs and finally spreading her pussy, before I gently tease and roll her clit between my fingers.

Soft whimpers escape her throat and her head thrashes from side to side. I pinch harder and she grunts, her hand shooting down to cover mine and push it between her lips roughly.

I do not resist her and slide inside her, shifting my weight behind the movement, two fingers stroking her walls, already clenching in anticipation. I spread her wider, scooping her juices out and coating the rest of her pussy with each thrust, then pushing back inside, adding a third finger to reach deeper, twisting them around kneading her drenched depths. She keens for me, my own cunt spasming with desire at the sound, loins grasping the dildo harder and my other hand goes down to fondle my own clit roughly, almost scratching it.

I feel her release around my fingers, hot, viscous fluid flooding my hand then drenching the sheets beneath and I know she is ready to take me, my own pussy drumming almost painfully with unrelenting want.

I close the distance between us, laying on her again, grasping her wrists firmly and pinning her hands above her head, as I rock my hips, the head of the dildo slicing up and down her pussy, pressing on her clit, then lower, against the tight ring of muscles of her opening. I feel her shift under me, lifting her ass off the bed as she struggles against my hold, legs spreading further, invitingly.

I let go of her wrists with one hand and align the dildo to her opening, before pressing against it, gently at first, halting when I feel her take the head in. Her eyes open, fixing into mine and her free hand tugs at my hip urgently. I oblige, pushing deeper, feeling her muscles spread around the strap-on and her pelvis lifts higher, taking more of me in, quicker, so quick the other end of the dildo hits my cervix unexpectedly as I delve fully into her and I moan, my own body responding as we start moving together.

My hands go to her sides, and I pull her into me as I thrust, harder and rougher than I first intended, our wolves running wildly inside of us. Her legs lift, ankles locking behind my back and she is so open to me now, I can enter her completely with each push. I lower my head to her chest, mouth open, tongue darting across heated skin, until I feel a hardened nipple slide between my roaming lips and I take it in without thought, biting without thought.

Clarke comes undone under me, wave upon wave of release bathing us, and I crash down onto her, sighing her name against her neck, hips pumping slower, but steadily, drawing another orgasm out of her, then a third. There is so much wetness between us, but everything is hot, everything is swept up in ravenous flames. I know I am losing control and I cannot bring myself to care as I feel her wolf and mine tangle together. She surrenders to me and I to her in a way no Omega could possibly know when mounted by their Alpha.

> I hope the door is sturdy enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Costia helps Clarke through her heat, Anya fights with ghosts she thought she had buried and calls on Lexa for help. 
> 
> Will the Pack leader be strong enough for them all, or will her wolf have the best of her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A NOTE OF WARNING
> 
> While more of the backstory will be revealed in coming chapters, I am treating suicide in this one. I try as usual to talk of such delicate topics with care, still I am aware some parts of this chapter could be triggering to some. There is also a very indirect, very veiled reference to rape, so I ask you to please consider this before reading. 
> 
> If you have any concerns or suggestions, or if you feel I did not write about these subjects appropriately reach out to me here or on Tumblr @kendrene 
> 
> My door is always open to criticism. Thank you for taking the time to read and as usual kudos and comments are treasured!
> 
> Finally, a gift:
> 
> to Lowiiie, for taking my angst and multiplying it and bearing with me and my crazy ideas
> 
> to Luxi_Storyteller who taught me to always ask myself why.
> 
> If you have not read their works, you definitely should.

-Anya-

 

I am strong, but the bags I gather from the car are heavy like boulders. By the time I set them down inside the parlor, my groin feels doused with fire, the erection between my legs so painful I cannot move without jolts of agony seizing my spine. 

I collapse on the couch, legs spread, trying to find a bearable position, as it seems that comfortable is out of the question.

> The wolf rages inside me, slavers in lust and anger at being denied. Its claws plant themselves more firmly into my bones and my back arches. With fleeting lucidity I know that I am scared. I never imagined it would be like this, that the beast would ride my soul so ruthlessly. I have always prided myself on having an iron grip on the feral side of me and now the reins have been torn from my hands, leaving my palms raw and bloodied.

I let out a sound, half growl, half moan and my head tilts backwards, hitting the back of the couch hard. One of my hands clutches at a nearby pillow as if my life depended on it, the other unclasps my belt with urgent tugs. I unzip my jeans and raise my hips, eyes unfocused, the room around me a haze of golden light and velvet shadow. I manage somehow to push my briefs down enough for my cock to spring out of the fabric’s constriction, so rigid it almost quivers. I hiss through gritted teeth as my palm ghosts along the shaft.

> Good thing it’s off season.

I fondle it from the base upwards, fingers stroking along the length, but the throbbing only increases and soon I close my hand around it, thrusting my hips in an erratic tempo as I tug it roughly. My loins tighten, muscles clenching under my shirt and nothing eases. Sweat slicks my skin, as drops of pre-cum glisten on the tip of my cock, before running downwards, coating my working fingers in unrelenting heat.

There is a rustling from above and then a muffled moan, than normal ears would not pick up. Mine do, and it sends me into a frenzy. I twitch uncontrollably and tumble off the couch, onto all fours. My eyes shut and I rut into air, snarling and snapping as my mind conjures Clarke’s body under mine, ass presented to me, utterly submitted. My hand, my own slick are not enough. I want to feel her wetness close around me as I spear her, plunging inside as deep as I can reach, hands on her hips leaving angry marks, my teeth sinking into the tender flesh of her neck sucking, marking, Claiming.

“Mine!” The scream leaves my lungs and I collapse onto the carpet, burying my face into the bristles. They scratch my cheek for a moment, then yield under my weight, softening. It could be her fingers, tracing my features, as she begs me to take her until exhaustion, drenched with want for me. 

The thought that Costia’s hands, her mouth are on her instead, makes the wolf howl. My insides twist and foam forms at the corners of my mouth. I bury my nose into the carpet, filling it with the scent of the beeswax that coats the wood beneath and the smoky particles of ash that float out of the fireplace and get lost between the warp and weft of the rug.

Still, despite the walls between us, and the locked door, their combined scent drifts down to me and I know, my beast knows that they are coupling. 

My body spasms and the wolf’s jaw clamp down on the scruff of my neck, and I am dragged forwards inevitably by the force of its will. I do not even bother to stand, but slither across the room on hands and knees, every sense heightened to the point I am overwhelmed.

The climb up the stairs it tortuous, the beast gobbling down the last morsels of my resolve. Everything is hot to the point of combustion, my skin  blanketed in a sheen of sweat that makes strands of my hair drop heavily across my cheek, and waters my eyes. 

By the time I get to the top steps, I am shaking like a leaf in high winds, gripped by shivers and flashes of heat as if my body was trying to break a fever. 

As my fingers spasmodically grab the last step and I heave myself upwards with a low moan, my gaze roams to the opposite wall, and the picture hanging there, a fragment of past, preserved in wood and glass turns my blood to ice.

> That night it was raining hard. It had been raining for days, the world turned into a washed out canvas of flooding water and sucking mud. I felt damp even when it wasn’t, humidity having a way to sneak inside the house, no matter how many fires we lit. Even the horses, which usually were eager to trot outside to pasture as soon as dawn lightened the sky, proved reluctant to leave the dry confines of the stable. 

I shudder, fighting and failing to tear my eyes away, a door I never thought I would reopen beckoning, a chasm of the deepest despair yawning beneath me. Even the soft moans coming from the bedroom cannot break the paralysis seizing my limbs. Clarke’s scent fills the hallway, mingled with Costia’s and underneath I detect traces of an older smell. It’s hard work and hay warmed by the sun and it makes my eyes brim with tears. It coats the walls, the sorrow clinging to the plaster, so soaked into the mortar and wood beneath that no amount of paint will ever mask it. Clarke’s pain and shame overlap it, the agony of her wolf a smear of maroon at the edge of my vision. 

Her suffering and his add up and I can fight the surging past no longer.

* * *

 

_ The keys hit the table with a loud rattle and I kick off my boots so as not to trail mud all over the polished floors. I shrug off the damp jacket, made heavier by the downpour and take a few step forwards in the shadowed hallway. I can see the telltale, ebbing glow of a dying fire coming from the parlor.  _

_ “Dammit,” I swear under my breath, irritation twisting my mouth into a grimace. I told him to keep an eye on the fire. We’ll never get this damn chill out of the house otherwise.  _

_ “Gus?” _

_ No answer _

_ “Gus?” My voice echoes from room to room, inside an ancient house that has become way to big for just the two of us.  _

_ Thunder barks in the distance, then a loud crash leads me to the back of the house, through the kitchen and into the little corridor that leads to the backyard and the stables.  _

_ The backdoor has been left ajar, and the wind’s impish hands grab at it, again and again, tossing it violently against the frame. I judge, from the water spraying the floor, it has been going on for quite some time.  _

_ “Gus?” my voice breaks, and the unseen hand of fear squeezes my heart painfully. My ears strain in the silence, hoping for an answer that is not forthcoming, the wet drip of rain the only sound.  _

_ I run outside, without a care for the freezing mud that coats my socks immediately and numbs my feet. I cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong, and the thunder that splits the sky open above my head choruses with the wild galloping inside my chest.  _

_ I rush across the yard and take the corner around the stable at full speed, slipping and sliding on the wet ground. When the image my eyes see hits my brain I stop dead so suddenly I almost lose balance and fall on my ass.  _

_ I see him, not immediately comprehending, lightning illuminating the scene with unforgiving clarity. He swings softly from the oak’s lower branch, the one which had supported the old tire we used as a swing when we were young. I remember the laughter, the chases around the massive trunk and the dominance games we played when we hit puberty as I lunge forward not even realizing I am screaming madly until my throat dries out.   _

_ I circle his legs with trembling arms and push upwards, staggering as I try to take his weight on me, knowing it is already too late. _

_ He stares down unseeing, eyes bloodied by the burst vessels, face already swollen and purplish, his tongue lolling out of an open, gasping mouth. His muscular frame is hard as a slab of stone under my touch, yet he appears diminished, empty, his wolf forever silent. _

_ Uncontrollable sobs weck my frame as I bury my face against his thigh. _

_ Little brother, what have you done? _

* * *

 

I sob, grief transferring from the past to the present, as a younger, lankier version of him stares down silently at me, relentless in its intensity. 

I can almost taste the slick running down Clarke’s thighs, soaking the sheets as Costia tries to soothe the Omega. It is bitter on the tip of my tongue, made acidic with her anger and a mourning that mirrors my own. Her wolf and mine howl in unison and I feel her control slip away as she loses herself to her primordial need.

It takes me three tries to free the phone from my pocket, even more to pull up Lexa’s number. 

The beeps of the connecting line merge with my wails and when she picks up, she immediately knows something is wrong.

“I need you,” I manage as tears stream down my face, “we all need you.”

 

-Lexa-

 

I relax the closer I draw to home, sighing contentedly as I cross into the town’s territory, my eyes picking out the subtle signs that tell a Were they are entering Pack land. I roll down the windows, letting the cold air swirl inside the car, whipping my hair about like a Gorgon’s snakes. The wind’s edge is sharpened with the bite of impending winter and the days have shortened considerably. I relish the change of season, hoping that its freezing grip will dampen tempers and reduce the roaring feuds to embers, burying them under a layer of snow.

If it was up to me I would grind them completely under my heel, but I won’t be cornered into an all out war by Nia’s recklessness. 

> When I was elected Mayor, I swore to value the safety of the humans living in Calais as much as that of the Pack. Marcus reminds me of that promise at every turn, the Meservey family depository of our secret for generations. He is bound to protect the Pack as I am to keep the humans from harm, but if things were to spiral out of control his Sheriff badge would not be able to keep the federals’ attention away. We all know that road leads to men with guns, silver bullets and raging torches held aloft in the hunt.

The car’s tires screech and squeal on a carpet of dead leaves and I slow down to a crawl, maneuvering the car around a winding bend. Headlights bounce across slivers of bent metal and smashed glass, gleaming like drops of dew as I steer clear of them, and my gaze is drawn to a shiny dark spot, oil or blood I cannot tell. I inhale deeply, a myriad scents overlapping as my brain and the wolf’s instinct try to give them name and make sense of what happened. Brake fluid and fuel, animal blood and human pain, fear and lingering adrenaline permeate everything.

I decide to step outside for a better look when my phone starts buzzing in the small space between the seats. 

I reach down with one hand, a strange feeling lodging in my gut, dread mixed with expectation, the wolf inside me rising to alertness. I take my eyes away from the road for a moment and glance at the flashing display.

_ Anya. _

“Hello?” 

Short, raspy breaths are my greeting, a barely contained sob.

“An?” 

My hackles rise, free hand grasping for the wheel like an anchor as the wolf inside snarls at unseen dangers.

“Has Nia…” I falter, thoughts immediately going to Costia, despite the small voice in my head, the reasonable one, telling me I would know if she was hurt.

She doesn’t let me finish.

“I need you,” I can almost feel the tears that must be wetting her cheek in the clenched way she forces the words out, “we all need you.”

“I am coming.” 

She hangs up and I slam my foot down on the gas. The car jumps forward with a groan of protest, slamming me against the seat, but I notice it in a distant manner, thoughts narrowed down to Anya and the sorrow that tinges my vision in shades of cold blue as I barrel down the road, closer to her. I free the wolf from the shackles of human reasoning and it runs wild inside me, reaching out to the Pack. 

As the battered Mustang roars through streets emptied by the late hour, my Packmates respond to their Alpha’s call, lights blinking on behind several windows. They may have not sensed Anya’s turmoil, but are shaken by my storm and I feel their wolves reach out to mine in confusion and alarm.

I sense my mate like a beacon and the force of her lust hits me fully as I smack the palms of my hands against the wheel, turning into the B&B parking lot in a spray of gravel and dirt. I am out almost before the car has come to a complete stop and I run to the front door, bounding up the steps in one leap, registering Costia’s car like a minor detail. 

I don’t need an explanation to know what is going on, my mate’s scent and a foreign one coating the very air inside with sex. My wolf should be insane with jealousy, but it only yearns to join them and I know it feels no threat as the second trace is that of an Omega in heat. Something catches at the back of my throat, a gaping hole left by Gustus’ death, a spot like a  sore tooth one torments with their tongue dreading to have it excised, unexpectedly soothed.

I groan as my body and the beast respond to a call so strong it is almost irrestistible, and my heart aches to see Anya curled up at the bottom of the stairs, back pressed to the wall. She has gathered herself into a tight ball, hands around her knees, face buried against her thighs. The phone lies abandoned on the first step and I know she has heard me enter, felt me, but she doesn’t come to me as she would normally do. 

I kneel in front of her and gently pry her arms apart, taking cramped hands into mine and slowly rubbing the stiffness away with my thumbs. 

“Anya.” 

She raises her head, her eyes like yellow coins, pupils so contracted she looks blind. She does not hold my gaze and the smell in my nose changes subtly. Need and arousal are still there, but a different trail lines them, the burnt smell metal acquires when left for too long in the sun. Shame.

“I want her… _ Klark... _ ” The name is made guttural by hunger; she shakes and my hold on her tightens, “I was going to...oh God, Lex...I was goona…” I pull her almost roughly into me and she complies, unfurling from her defensiveness and letting me wrap my arms around her. I rub my cheek against hers, then turn my face into it and lick her tears away. She whimpers, her fingers seizing and worrying my shirt into a mess of wrinkles. 

“I didn’t touch her…” Anya mumbles weakly into my neck, coming apart, the pieces of a heart she had stitched so carefully back together after her brother’s passing, popped open by woe’s sharp claws.

“I know,” I kiss her temple and I feel how much Clarke’s heat is consuming her, burning her up to the last wick of resistance. It thumps behind my eyes like a building migraine, and sweat drips down my back. I want my mate, I want both the Omegas’, my wolf aching to bring Clarke into the Pack and it takes everything I have to not lead Anya upstairs and succumb to our wolves.

I raise my gaze upwards, to the shadows that crowd at the top of the stairwell and find a set of family photos, the proud face of a smiling Gustus’ as he hold up a freshly caught trout. I know this must be what has stopped the other Alpha in her tracks and I silently offer my thanks to his spirit. She would never forgive herself for taking Clarke by force.

> We believe that, when one of our numbers passes away, their wolf is thrown back into the primordial maelstrom of creation, waiting for another human to be born with which their spirit can join, to walk the Earth again as a being of dual nature. While they attend such a call, the unborn wolves keep a silent vigil over the living. The stars that brighten the night are their eyes, watching down on us.

I stand shakily, the bulge pressing between my legs signaling my own predicament and pull Anya with me, refusing to let go of her. I know she needs release, as I do, so I take a quick decision, before reason deserts us both completely and drag her towards the part of the house she has kept for herself and into her bathroom. I lock the door behind us, but it makes no difference, the Omegas’ scent seeped under our skin, their presence wrapped around our souls. 

I push Anya inside the shower box, wondering briefly at what moment I removed my shoes, then reach for the cold water knob, the freezing jet dousing us both. It doesn’t quench our urges, but her gaze clears briefly as I trap her against the tiled wall, pinning her with my body.

We stop, peering into each other’s eyes, panting slightly.

> “I am not like  _ her _ ,” she snarls, angry at herself for a perceived weakness, yet fearfully seeking my reassurance. My fingers run along her cheekbones and I shake my head silently, before I silence her concerns with a heated kiss.
> 
> I know perectly well who she refers to. The woman, whom we never could put a name to, that shattered our lives into a mess of fragments we could never put back quite the way they had been. I remember Gustus’ excitement, as we saw him off to college, head full of dreams and cautionary tales about foreign Weres. How he came back for winter break, the smile gone, his good nature drowned by melancholy. We never got the full story out of him, only snatches of a recollection too painful to share, even with his sister. In the end he could not stand the dishonor he thought he had brought on himself and the Pack, the fear he was so tainted no other Alpha would ever want him, nor the scalding shame. Anya and myself carry the blame born by the knowledge we failed to protect one of our own.

I am crying when I pull back, and I tilt my head up, letting the water splash onto my forehead and downward, knowing full well there is no way to clean this sort of pain away. 

Anya insistently tugs at my shirt, and we collapse against each other, hands roaming, peeling wet clothes off, tearing away what doesn’t give fast enough for our liking. 

Fingertips draw paths down her front, and I feel the hard ridges of the scars that mar her midriff, where my claws tore flesh as we fought for leadership. I bear similar marks of my lower back and I gasp and press into her when her touch finds them. I remember my jaws closing around her throat, my tongue against her pulse when I held her under me and she submitted. 

> A Pack with two Alphas is an oddity. When the challenge to the old leader is issued and the duel for dominance fought, the loser usually leaves to form a new Pack if they are able. If they survive.

My mouth finds hers again, and I bite her lower lip, drawing blood. The violence of our tangling only excites her further and I feel her cock press hard against me, her hips swaying roughly as she seeks to rub against my hardened flesh.. 

I pull back and leave her lips for the chiseled line of her jaw, edging down slowly, licking her neck then sinking my teeth into her collarbone and breaking skin for the second time. The tang that coats my tongue sends a wave of heat into my stomach and further below. I throb with the sweetest agony and Anya moans my power sweeping her up as she feels what I feel. 

I grow impatient, wanting her to release for me, craving my own bliss. I kneel and my hands knead her hips as she looks down at me, mouth slack with anticipation, Strands of hair fall forward obscuring her features, but I see the glint of wolf gold as her eyes drink in my every movement. My hand skirts her hipbone, the inside of her thigh, leaving scratches on her skin. I press my cheek against her leg, gaze lingering on her erection, as my fingers feather underneath, fondling her balls softly, then harder, nails scraping the sensitive area. She hisses, a small keening sound vibrating inside her chest and thrusts her hips upwards, offering herself to me. 

My tongue darts out, stroking along her shaft, the member quivering under my attention. Her pre-cum is salty with desire, redolend with surrender as she capitulates and begs incoherently to be taken, her wolf so frenzied by the promise of relief it is more than willing to be claimed. 

I press the flat of my tongue against the base of her cock and work my way upwards, dragging my teeth along the pulsing veins, hard as stone under thin skin. She moans louder and as my tongue swirls around the cock’s head, my hand massages the base not bothering with gentleness. It isn’t what she wants, what I need as my other hand tugs at my own erection and I set a matching rhythm, working us both towards the edge at full speed. 

Her hand tangles in my hair and she pushes me forcefully onto her, canting her hips and ramming herself into my mouth, until she pushes all inside with a scream of triumph and the jet of her release hits the back of my throat. I gulp down every drop as my own cum spills out of me in a flood that gets lost in the water still raining over us. I know it’s supposed to be cold, but the air around us is made torrid by our union and we do not care as we seek each other out again and again. 

I am dimly aware of the Omegas’ releases echoing ours, closer and closer until we all come crashing down, disheveled into exhaustion. 

I lay on the bathroom floor, towels under me and Anya sleeping in my arms. I stroke her hair absentmindedly, resisting the lure of sleep a few moments longer and as I listen to our hearts beat I become aware that for the first time in years the house smells of something other than sorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke wakes up after her heat, some of her past is revealed and she begins to explore the town around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, it's been a while! 
> 
> I have brought on board Lowiiie author extraordinaire to help me flash out the fic - I know which direction the story has to go towards, now we just need to get there! If you have not checked out her other works please do so, they're well worth the read.
> 
> As usual kudos and comments are much appreciated! 
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!

\- Clarke -

 

_ I read the letter one more time, my lips silently forming the words, brain reeling in disbelief. I hope I have misunderstood – perhaps if I read it again its meaning will change. _

_ It doesn’t. _

Jaha wants to go public despite our objections. Clarke, I fear he has gone mad.

_ The writing is shaky on the last sentence, the lines almost violently jagged, so unlike my mother’s hand. There is a tear in the paper at the end, as if she had pressed the pen too hard. _

_ Whether she did so in anger or fear I cannot tell. _

_ For an instant I am seized by anger myself, and ball the letter up into a fist, ready to throw it across the room. I regret it almost instantly and smooth it out against the nearest flat surface before pressing it to my chest. I take a deep breath to settle my erratic heart and another to give me pause, but nothing quells the growing tension within me. _

_ Just as I am about to read the words again, the door opens. _

_ “Clarke?” _

_ Her voice falters, catches on my name as she takes in the worry that saturates my scent. She comes inside, shutting the door quickly and closes the distance between us. _

_ She doesn’t waste time with questions, but moves behind me and wraps strong arms around my waist, pulling me close. Her lips find the mating bite and nip it as a low rumble leaves her chest. I angle the letter slightly, so she can read over my shoulder. I don’t have to turn to know there is a crease of concentration between her eyes as she scans the paper. _

_ “Well, shit.” _

_ Her arms slacken briefly in surprise, before they squeeze me tighter and I lean back soaking in my Alpha’s strength. _

_ “Have you called her?” I half turn and her eyes are alive with thought. I can almost see the different scenarios playing through her head. _

_ “I tried,” despite her presence and soothing pheromones, wings of fear flutter in my chest again, “she isn’t picking. Neither at home nor the office. I even called Jackson, they Skype almost every day since he left for the States and he said they were having a meeting about it.” My shoulders sag and a tremor starts at the base of my spine, “she hasn’t been online since.” _

_ She lets go of me and quickly walks to her laptop, flipping it open. _

_ “What are you doing?” _

_ “The news,” she keys up Chrome and types in our town’s name, looking for recent articles. _

_ “Don’t you think if someone announced the existence of a werewolves’ community and had actual proof, national TV would be broadcasting 25/8?” _

_ She sighs and stops scrolling through the newsfeed, “I was thinking along the lines of angry mobs with torches roaming the countryside, but you got a point.” _

_ I grab a pillow and whack her with it. _

_ “Hey!” She throws an arm up to ward off the next blow. _

_ “Not. Funny.” I growl with each attempted hit, then suddenly the fear becomes too much and I choke out a sob as I let go of the pillow to cover my mouth, trying to muffle the sound. _

_ “I can’t get in touch with anyone!” I moan the words out, frustration and despair making me open my arms wide as if the empty space around me could physically demonstrate that statement and she is back before the tears start to fall. Her mouth ghosts over my trembling lips and then along my jaw. She nuzzles into my neck and bites harder this time. _

_ I keen pitifully and stumble into her and she lifts me effortlessly, carrying me to the couch. I still clutch the letter to my chest and curl around it when she tries to pry my fingers off it gently. _

_ She gives up and just settles us more comfortably, pulling my side flush against her chest as I adjust on her lap. She rains small kisses on the top of my head and, when my breathing slows, she speaks again. _

_ “What do you want to do?” _

_ I wipe my eyes with the edge of a sleeve and sniffle, trying to regain a semblance of composure. _

_ “Go back. Figure out what’s going on.” _

_ She goes rigid and silent, and when she replies, her tone is cold and firm. _

_ “No.” _

_ “No?” I blink up at her wrong footed, then my voice starts rising, “what do you mean no?” _

_ The edge of a snarl tugs her lips back. _

_ “I won’t let you walk into danger just like that, Clarke, not until we know what’s going on.” _

_ I start squirming and try pushing away, but she is stronger. Her arms tightening around me. _

_ “Clarke stop.”     _

_ “NO! It’s my mother…our Pack we’re talking about! How can we find out what’s going on if I can’t talk to them? Going back is the only way!” _

_ I finally manage to rip free and, losing my balance, slide off her lap and onto the floor with a thud. She stands scowling, towers over me and I feel the first touches of her power slide against my skin. The mating bite starts to pulse with her heartbeat and mine, until the throbbing becomes painful. _

_ I slap the palm of my hand over it, kneading the heated flesh but it doesn’t bring any relief. _

_ “Clarke.” The command in her voice makes my bones ache. And the guilt behind the glare makes my heart hurt. But her stance is unwavering. _

_ “Don’t you dare,” I grate, guessing what she is about to do. _

_ Suddenly I yelp, as the smell of burning skin fills my nose. I look down, bewildered, and let the letter drop to the floor, as it starts to smolder at the edges. _

_ I lift scorched fingers to my lips to suck the sting away then my mouth drops open in a silent scream as the flames rear upwards like a bucking horse. The world ends in a maelstrom of heat and light so bright it burns my eyes out. _

* * *

 

A blade of sunlight slices through my eyelids and I jerk awake with a gasp. I blink back tears as my eyes adjust to the brightness and I realize something weighs heavily on my breast, making it hard to breathe. 

The room slowly comes into focus and I glance downward. 

A woman lies skin to skin with me, our limbs entwined in the abandonment of sleep. A wild mass of curls spills over my chest and a familiar name rolls off my tongue even as I realize it isn’t her. 

“Raven?”

It’s barely above a quiet whisper, voice still heavy with sleep and croaking from lingering emotions, but enough to make her stir. My brain decides to finally catch up with me and well worn panic starts to settle in as I realize exactly how much of our bodies are touching.

She’s laying all over me. She’s  _ touching  _ me. I freeze for an instant then my brow knits in bewilderment. I expect shivers, the familiar nausea settling in, the cold sweat running down my back at the onset of the panic attack. 

Nothing. Even my breathing is relatively calm.

Soft grey eyes flick up to mine and she pulls herself up on her elbows and slightly off of me. I am grateful for the space she instinctively affords me, but there’s an ounce of me that immediately misses her warmth. Her head tilts curiously and I watch sleep slowly fall off her face. The right name comes to my lips.

“Costia.”

“Hey Clarke,” I like the way she says my name. Soft and open. Welcoming. I see her move and reach for my forehead, and I pointedly look at her hand. Costia’s eyes widen slightly, then she gives a tiny nod of understanding. 

> I hate that I am acting like a skittish animal, but that’s exactly how I feel. I should be past that, no? I mean, we slept together. Oh my God.  _ I let her fuck me. _ A little voice snickers in the background telling me it’s not like I was against the idea. I guess it’s got a point.

“How do you feel?” She hasn’t moved an inch, her hand still outstretched and I figure her arm must be getting tired. I either brush her off, or put on my big girl pants and let her touch me. It’s nothing, compared to what she already did anyway. 

“I think the fever’s gone.” I close my eyes, minutely leaning my head towards the waiting hand, and she takes that as permission. Her fingers brush strands of hair away from my face then the back of her hand presses against my temple. Her skin is warm and dry and soft. Oddly comforting. 

Without thought I lean into her hand and it moves to sift through my hair, before drawing down to cup my cheek gently.

> It’s been ages since I let someone touch me like this. God, I’ve missed it. 

“How does the rest of you feel?”

My eyes snap open and I follow her gaze down. With the accident and the shock that coursed through my veins, I barely had time to think about my state before my heat started. The cloud of primal instinct took over then and it didn’t leave room for anything but need. As I study my body now, I can clearly see that my chest is a jumble of bruises. I press on the darkest and most impressive one on my breast bone, undoubtedly from the impact with the steering wheel. It aches, the pain sharper the more I climb to wakefulness. But it doesn’t look like it’s cracked. I’ll have to make a more thorough examination just to be sure, preferably without a beautiful creature on top of me.

“Been better.” The quip is a pitiful croak. 

She laughs, and  _ God  _ her laugh is truly something. It’s silver lined and I want to make her laugh again, just to hear it. Just to alleviate even infinitesimally the weight that took residence in my chest since the day that letter came.

“Can’t be too bad if you’re joking.” 

Slowly she moves to a sitting position, then gracefully rolls off the bed. I have to swallow a whimper as the distance between us increases. 

She senses the shift of my shoulders, the tensing of my neck, because her next words are soothing.

“I’m not leaving you alone, Clarke,” her chin tilts towards the bathroom, “perhaps you’d like to take a shower? I can go downstairs and make us breakfast.” She gives one look at the clock hanging from the wall that I failed to notice (pretty much like the rest of the room) and corrects herself. “Or lunch.”

On cue, my stomach gives a famished growl and I tuck my head down as a blush creeps along my cheeks. 

She laughs again, ruefully and, having grabbed her scattered clothes, makes for the door. 

“I’ll get you clean stuff while you wash. Anya should have brought your bags inside.” She adds something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like a threat, but I’ve stopped listening at the mention of the Alpha. 

> I’ve only talked to her via email, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the woman behind the name is the same Alpha that appeared on the house’s doorstep. I mean, who else would have been waiting for me at that time of night?

My back stiffens and the grip I have on the duvet turns white-knuckled. 

“She’s not here right now.” Her voice comes from a great distance as if she’s talking to me from a galaxy away. It takes a few dragging moments for her words to sink in and I exhale, unclenching my hands and nodding weakly.

“She’d never hurt you, Clarke.” She adds softly, eyes suddenly filled with a sadness I don’t understand. It is gone before I can ask her what she means since it’s a bold statement from someone I barely know, despite the carnal intimacy we shared, about someone I have yet to meet. But something in the certainty she said it tells me it is no less true.

I kick the covers off, storing my questions for a later time and take stock of my surroundings. Frankly I am surprised the heat has gone this quickly - usually they last from a few days up to two weeks - but judging from the state of the bed and myself, it must have truly been something.

There’s a dull ache between my thighs as I walk to the small bathroom, not entirely unpleasant, and despite having slept like the dead and much later than I am used to, I feel tired down to my bones and stifle a yawn as I meet my own gaze in the mirror. 

There are dark smudges under my eyes and my skin is pasty, clammy with traces of lingering fever. I don’t even want to talk about my hair. 

My stomach growls again, making me sound like a leaky pipe and I hurriedly step into the shower box. The water when I turn it on is scalding, but I welcome the way it pricks my skin, washing away old sweat, other fluids and ghosts of haunting past. 

Costia’s scent slides off of me along with the soapy water and, as the liquid gurgles down the drain, I cannot help but feel a pang of regret. I don’t know what’s going on with me, but for sure she has gotten under my skin.

I can’t make up my mind on how I feel about that.

I wash my hair as well even if I know it will take ages to dry, and comb the snarls out with my fingers. When I step out of the shower I shiver despite the steam filling the small bathroom and wrap a soft towel around myself as quickly as I can. The mirror has fogged up, so I have to wipe it with the edge of the towel to see my reflection.

Yes, I definitely look better.

I step back inside the bedroom and the musk of aftersex hits me like a freight train. I move to the window and pull the panes wide open, shrugging off the blast of cool air that sweeps inside the room. I’d rather be freezing than have the reek of my heat linger in my nose a moment longer. 

True to her word, Costia has recovered my bags, leaving them on the chair by the door,  just inside the bedroom. Relief floods me at finding them zipped up, the irrational fear she would touch my clothes and leave her scent on them quickly replaced by shame. 

I pick clean underwear and jeans, a button up shirt and, after a moment of careful consideration, the warmest fleece I brought with me. The air coming in from the open window nips at my skin as I change and I realize I will need to shop for heavier stuff should I decide to stay.

With what money, I do not know. I barely had any change left to refill the tank of the rental. I guess it’s a problem for another time. First, food. Then, whatever needs to be seen to.

Once I feel as ready as I will ever be, I hesitantly nose my way out of the bedroom. The house creaks and sighs around me, wooden floorboards groaning softly as I walk towards the stairwell. I can tell that the building is lovingly maintained, the floors polished to a mirror  sheen and the air smelling faintly of beeswax.  

As I descend the stairs, lured by the smell of cooking food, the Victorian style I only half glimpsed upon my arrival, becomes shamelessly apparent, and I can’t help but be enamored. 

At the bottom of the stairs, I pause and take a long sniff of the house, making sure the Alpha really isn’t around. Her scent is everywhere however and I have no other choice but to trust Costia’s word. The thing is, I haven’t allowed myself to trust someone in some time and I fear I have kind of forgotten how it’s done. 

Dragging my feet a little, I move towards the back of the house, mouth watering. 

The kitchen is big and brimming with the early afternoon light and I stop, watching Costia putter around the stove, motes of dust dancing around her head like tiny fireflies. 

Somehow she knows I am staring, because she shoots me a glance and smiles gently. It makes the fear that always perches on my shoulder flutter off and I feel lighter and also oddly naked. 

The soft clatter of plates being set on the table in the middle of the room makes me finally walk inside.

“Come on, let’s eat.” 

Costia gestures for me to take an empty chair and sits across me, pushing one of the full plates forward. I look down and my eyes widen at the amount of food. 

The plate is piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon, toasted bread and a generous dollop of jam. Added to the bowl of freshly cut fruits, glass of orange juice, yogurt and a choice of either coffee or tea. I know it’s pretty standard for a Bed & Breakfast to offer so much variety but Costia didn’t mess around with the portion. Even with the post heat hunger, it is a lot of food.

“I don’t think I can eat all of it,” it smells delicious and I am sure it will taste just as good as it looks, but really as I take a look at it all again...it’s a  _ lot _ of food. 

Costia snickers, grey eyes twinkling with amusement. 

“That’s what I tell myself every time after a heat. Then I empty the fridge.” 

We both laugh and when my stomach gives another savage growl I finally dig in. I feel myself relax more bite by bite and try to remember when was the last time I could just sit down and enjoy a nice meal in peace. Costia doesn’t talk and I am more than happy to soak in the quiet, and feel the rays of the sun warm my back. It’s hard to ignore the part of me that tells me this won’t last, but I try, and for a little bit I manage.  

* * *

 

\- Costia -

 

I watch Clarke willfully dig into the pile of food and puff out my chest in pride when she seems well on her way to clean the plate. Lexa insists I make the best food she’s ever had, but she is my mate and therefore biased. 

I take advantage of the blonde being engrossed in her food to study her in between bites. I’ve let her choose where to sit, and instinctively she’s taken the chair that lets her keep an eye on both the door and the big window that takes up one side of the room. It saddens me that she falters every now and then, pausing with a forkful halfway to her mouth and sneaks a glance towards the doorway.

I can’t decide if she is afraid that Anya will suddenly show up, or debating whether to run as far from here as possible. 

My eyes move to the faded scar on the side of her neck and I sigh quietly. I can recognize a mating bite when I see it, but this one is almost gone. I rub a hand over mine distractedly, feeling how rough the scarring is under my fingertips. I love it when Lexa bites so hard she draws blood, my Omega craving the feeling of being trapped between the Alpha’s jaws. 

With Clarke, the mark is so faint it’s like she was bitten just once, and I wonder where her mate is. Perhaps the name she called when she woke up has something to do with all of this.

I ache to ask and actually am about to try and do so as gently as I can, but when her gaze meets mine, I change my mind. There is a rawness lurking in her eyes that tells me this is not the time. We’ve slept together true, but we’re perfect strangers on any other level. 

I hope she will stay with us and that in time, I will learn her story. The reason behind such vulnerability, unease and caution. That want to trust but that reserve to actually do it, always expecting for something to jump from the shadows to get her. It didn’t take me long to notice the alertness and readiness to fight and flight.

She watches me, a delicate frown on her brow, and I realize my mouth is hanging open.

“When you are done, we can go check on your car if you want?” I offer to cover my blunder, “my brother should have towed it into town by now.” I’ve called him up while she was showering and brought him up to speed. He knows everything that matters.

She perks up at the mention of her car, and I know she may be planning to leave as soon as Lincoln is done with the repairs. I feel the Omega inside me shiver and whine at the idea, and I realize I don’t want her to leave either. There are no other Omegas in town and while I certainly don’t lack for friends, we are all too acutely aware of where we stand in the hierarchy of the Pack. I have a few human acquaintances as well, but the gulf with them is even wider for obvious reasons. The Meserveys are the exception, not the rule.

Clarke insists on washing the dishes to thank me for the food, while I clean up the stove, and with her help, we are done in no time.

On the short walk to my car, I notice how much she is shivering and offer to take her shopping for warmer clothes if she wants. It isn’t that cold but she must not been used to this kind of weather. Clarke notices my stare and stops hugging her sides long enough to get into the car.

“My Australian blood is already freezing,” she quips in explanation.

“Australia? And you came all the way to Maine? That’s quite the change.” I start the engine up and watch her reaction carefully out of the corner of my eye. 

> Lexa told me our new doctor was a foreigner, but I had figured from another State not a whole different continent. There are many things Lexa didn’t tell me about Clarke it seems, and we are going to have ourselves a talk.

The blonde gives a throaty laugh that sends shivers down my spine.

“You can say that.” She doesn’t elaborate and we drive towards town in silence. As I maneuver the car onto the main road, she speaks again. 

“I...had to leave,” I catch a flash of teeth when she grimaces, “it wasn’t possible to stay where I was anymore.” 

“You don’t have to say anything Clarke,” I’ve caught the pain that edges her words and my heart aches in sympathy. I’d pat her arm, or take her hand if I was sure of her reaction. I settle for a small warm smile, enough to convey that I’m here if she wants to talk but I won’t push her to confide in me, or anyone else for that matter.

Town’s quite full today, preparations for the Fall Festival well underway, so we have to park more than a block away from Lincoln’s shop. I hope she doesn’t mind walking.

Clarke pauses halfway off her seat, one foot already on the curb. 

“Thank you.”

“For?” 

She bushes and gestures vainly in the empty space between us. 

“What we...uh….” she clears her throat, “and not asking...not asking me…” 

I take pity and simply nod, Clarke’s shoulders sagging forward in relief. 

“Let’s go see the car doctor, OK?” 

She snorts at that and we leave my car, walking briskly up the street towards Lincoln’s garage. Every time someone brushes past us, human or were alike, I see Clarke slightly tense, her eyes narrow with diffidence. She must have questions but this isn’t the place to talk of certain things. I also wonder how she manages to work as a doctor in her state, how she can perform when her focus is split between her task and keeping an astute eye on her surroundings. 

I smile when my brother’s shop comes into view, the familiar smell of oil and rubber filling my nose. 

> We have both been busy, and he’s been doting on Octavia whenever he’s not fixing a car. I keep telling him to just mate her and be done with it, but he’s kind of old fashioned and the courting has been going on for months. Octavia is willful though, and I am praying she will just get tired of waiting and take matters in her own hands. (and my brother into her bed).

My grin dies, replaced by something cold when I lay eyes on what’s left of Clarke’s car. It’s numbing fear that settles in my chest like a fist-sized lump of ice. It could have been much worse; she could have gotten off much worse or not at all and I see the same conclusion slither across her face as her blue eyes skirt feverishly over the bent metal, trying to assess the damage.

I can clearly see where the car hit the deer, the dent in the metal looking much bigger in daylight. The front lights are blown out and the hood bent up at an angle that leaves it half-open. The dark liquid pooling under the car is anything but reassuring.

“Hey sis!” 

Lincoln walks towards us from the back of the shop, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. 

“This is Clarke,” I offer, when he looks to the blonde questioningly, “we’re here for the car.” I point to the wreck.

Clarke has been staring at Lincoln like she’s stared at everyone we met on the way here, and I realize that while I am used to his size, he can come off as intimidating. I am about to reassure her when he shuffles, looking away at the mention of the car. 

“Oh. Uh...yeah….it’s gonna take a while, I am sorry.” He gives an apologetic smile and shrugs, not quite meeting Clarke’s crestfallen gaze. 

“Is it that bad?” She asks in a tiny voice, and I swear I can almost see her mentally counting money.

“Beside the outside damage? Engine head is busted,“ he walks to the half open hood and peers inside, “haven’t had time to figure where the liquid is leaking from, but… yeah I’ve seen worse, but not by much,” he shrugs again and gives Clarke a smile, possibly to encourage her, “it’s rented right? Call them up and see about insurance, then I can get the pieces in. Up here, everyone drives SUVs so I don’t have the parts right now.”

I’ve seen the blonde’s shoulders slump dejectedly with each word and I want to cuff him. He really is an oblivious fool sometimes. 

> On second thought, Octavia deserves better.

“Any chance of a discount for what insurance won’t cover?” Clarke shakes herself out of her dark thoughts and straightens, visibly gathering herself. 

“Uhm,” Lincoln wrings the rag between his hands and looks to me, “I mean...usually it’s for Pack members, but…” 

I roll my eyes. “Oh come on, Linc! You really want to piss off the new doctor?” 

It must be the right thing to say, because tension leaves the room. Clarke sniggers and I smirk back, and my brother looks between us, kind of flustered. I seize the opening and step closer to Clarke, bumping her shoulder with mine and winking. We are not leaving the garage without that discount, even if I have to beat it out of my brother.

Clarke smiles at me, catching onto the plan, and I really want to keep that expression in place. For a moment she looks completely unburdened. Her next words make me blush furiously, and warm my heart at the same time.

“Well, I might not be a mechanic, but I did pop your sister’s hood and made her engine purr. Does it count as honorary membership?”

Lincoln drops the rag to the floor, flabbergasted. And I don’t fare much better for a second as it is a complete 180 from the guarded girl I woke up to. I quickly regain my sense though and jump at the opportunity to banter a bit, knowing Lincoln still likes to pretend sex isn’t part of my vocabulary.

“Purr? I made your V roar all night on my shifting sticks, Clarke.” I stick my tongue out at them, proud for not only keeping up with the innuendo but anting it up. Clarke laughs, while Lincoln looks torn between disbelief and the sudden urge to melt into a puddle of embarrassment.  

“Glad to see you are alright Doctor Griffin.” The voice cuts our laughter short and I turn, a series of excuses forming on my tongue. The pervasive smell of lubricant must have covered her scent, but Lexa does have a knack for sneaking up on people. 

She’s leaning against the doorjamb, but when she sees me looking, she walks towards us. And it reminds me of a stalking wolf, purposeful gait with calculating stare. But her cool, green eyes aren’t trained on me. The unfaltering, curious gaze has locked on its prey.

She’s looking at Clarke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa joins Costia and Clarke at the garage, eager to check on the new doctor and she gets more than she bargained for. Later as Clarke continues the tour of Calais, she discovers that the town has many secrets and that everything isn't as quiet as it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Periods are a bitch. We kept our promise of monthly updates right on the dot. I dedicate this chapter to my bro turning 30 and who still shakes his head at me for my nerdiness lol.
> 
> \- Lowiie
> 
> We did it! As Low said, right on the dot too! As usual kudos and comments are treasured. We'll see you around Calais next month! Thank you all for reading.
> 
> \- Kendrene

-Lexa-

I wander up to Lincoln’s garage after leaving Anya back at the B&B to tend to her horses after surely filling the pantry and every cupboard with more food and amenities than Clarke would ever need. We spent a good part of our morning at the site of the car crash - Lincoln had texted me last night that he went to tow Clarke’s car to prevent another accident, informing me he would look at it first thing in the morning but that it had been too dark to see if he had missed something - to make sure there were no debris left and dispose of the deer’s carcass. Well dispose, as in load it in the truck’s bed to have the meat cured by the butcher. 

Anya had been grumbly at having spent the night on the bathroom floor, surrounded by the heady wafts of sex scents from the two Omegas two doors down. Not even our own fucking had improved her grumpy temper which I can partially relate to. I remember the edge Costia’s pheromones brought me to when she was in heat and yet to be mated; no number of orgasms could have really helped calm Anya down. But when we made it outside of the room at first light, knowing the Omegas would still be fast asleep, and she realized Clarke’s scent was everywhere in the house, coating every surface, embedded in every material, her mood had improved considerably. And when her eyes lit up at the prospect of free prime meat, I just couldn’t refuse her. Pretty sure she intends to offer the finest pieces to Clarke.

_ Doctor Griffin _ . 

I correct myself. It doesn’t seem right to think of her by name when I haven’t even met her yet. And it doesn’t seem fair that I know way more of her than she knows of me.

> Oh, Anya has provided plenty of details. From elaborating on the way she smells, to how her hair shone like spun gold in the car’s headlights. I would laugh at how besotted she was with the Omega, if I couldn’t harp on about Costia for hours myself. And there was something in the combined scents of the two Omegas that made my loins stir with desire. Anya hadn’t been the only one unsettled by their aroused scents that night, I just had been better at keeping myself in check.

I knew the girls would come by the shop during the day as Costia texted me she would drive Cla...Doctor Griffin, but I didn’t think we would cross paths. The first thing that hits me when I pause in the doorway, even before her scent seeps into my lungs, is the laugh she shares with Costia. It reminds me of a waterfall on a hot summer day, fresh and throaty, like water gurgling against rocks. I wish to drink my fill of it and I hope I’ll hear it often. 

Then my mouth drops open and I inhale sharply, her scent so mixed with Costia’s that I can’t really tell them apart without my brow furrowing in concentration. The Alpha wolf within me should be ascending in fury, but I feel only envy and a bit of guilt as I eavesdrop on their conversation. It was always understood between me and Anya, that once she found a mate she would stop sharing the bed with me, and Costia and I know the newfound Omega is that mate, from the way my friend can’t stop talking about her for two seconds.

But as I feel my cock stir and my pants tighten I wonder if things really need to change.

> Perhaps I am being greedy, but my thoughts go back in time, to stories I have heard of the Packs and how they used to be. There was a time where men were painfully aware of our existence, a dark time drenched with our blood and stained with suffering on both sides. We came so close to extinction that Alphas would sometimes care for more than one Omega even when not mated to them. With Nia plotting to cause trouble, maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

The other thing that gives me pause, as I quietly edge inside and see them stand almost brushing shoulders, is that they are so at ease around each other for two people who only met less than 24 hours ago, easygoing and unburdened. They act like equals in a way me and Costia never could and never really will be able to. I love her more than anything, would give my life for her in a heartbeat, but I know she longs for the company of someone who can look past the wolf she is. I try my best inside our bed and out, but there are only so many ways in which we can push our nature. Set aside our instincts so only our human desires remain. There’s always a moment when the wolf takes over and renders any effort of equality null. I know that Costia resents her Omega when it’s the wolf that submits and not her, as much as I should resent her for having helped a perfect stranger through their heat. 

But I don’t feel jealousy or possessiveness, not in the way I should. 

And I am attracted to the blonde, as if my wolf recognized that we could have been mates had I met her before Costia. She resonates within me and my ribs vibrate as my wolf purrs softly with something very close to contentment. I feel a connection with her, not exactly like the one I share with Costia through the mating bite, but still deep and unavoidable like gravity. I want her. I want her to share my bed and take my cock. I want to bask in the scent of her arousal, lick the sweat off her neck and bury my teeth in her breasts. I want to be there to witness the glow I would provide satiating her and Costia claiming a dominance she can’t have with me. I want to witness that sexual and unrestrained freedom I can’t give to any of them. Stroke myself to oblivion, lusting as they pleasure themselves in my company.

> Briefly I wonder if Anya ever felt the same towards Costia, but she’s never mentioned. Then again she isn’t great at verbalizing feelings. I wonder if Anya will let me have Clarke like I let her have Costia, that Anya will still want me when she mates. I think about those polyamorous legends again and I hope, deeply pray even, that we will be part of the lucky few that get to experience it and make it work. My greedy possessive part really wants to have them all.

I stay there, in the doorway, looking in dreamily, listening to the easy banter and the blonde’s unexpected spunk, given the circumstances. I barely cover a snort at the clever innuendos and keep a laugh in at Lincoln blanching then flushing. He never really liked hearing about his sister’s sex life. Costia perfectly knows this and she just likes riling him up with it. I decide to save poor Lincoln by making myself known. It’s a wonder none had caught my scent when I arrived but I do like the surprise effect I offer. Costia closes her mouth so fast, I can literally see the gears moving in her head to come up with something to explain what I just witnessed. 

I smirk. 

She doesn’t know that I don’t mind her being so carefree with Clarke. She doesn’t know I’m not upset about her display and openness with someone that is not Anya, Lincoln or me. When she looks up at me with apologetic eyes, I give her a quick faint smile, advancing on the group with purpose. There’s someone I am eager to meet, to address and touch. And once I catch the breathtaking blues of her eyes, I cannot look away. My wolf preens and vibrates with anticipation as the beautiful blonde Omega is looking at me attentively, breath catching and eyes widening. 

I know then that her wolf is recognizing mine as mine did hers. I know she’s smelling Costia within me. I see and smell that she panics and gets scared making all the connections and anticipating consequences from me. She recoils and closes herself up before puffing her chest and pinning me with her stare. It’s captivating and unnerving, such a sudden change in her behavior and her stance that I know it’s about more than me being Costia’s Alpha.

Lincoln clears his throat and the stifling moment breaks. I look at my mate and brother in law, realizing that he had subtly put himself between the Omegas and myself, probably following the same train of thoughts as the doctor. I release peaceful pheromones and walk to him to squeeze his shoulders, “Hey Linc.”

“Lex.”

“Hey beautiful.” I smile as I walk to Costia to kiss her softly. I feel more than I see the blonde Omega avert her eyes.

“Hello, I’m Lexa Woods. You must be Doctor Griffin. Welcome to our town.” I extend my hand with an encouraging smile, and make myself look as small and non-threatening as I can. It’s not easy since I am a bit taller than her, and every instinct is calling for me to assert my dominance.

“Please, call me Clarke. Doctor Griffin i...was my mother.” Pain dims the blue of her eyes for a moment and my chest aches in sympathy. I know how it is to lose people, the hole their absence leaves inside you an impossible one to fill. 

Then her hand is in my own, tentatively at first, skin barely brushing mine, unsure to establish contact, ready to withdraw if need be, then with more assurance like the defiant stare she gave me earlier. She wraps her hand around mine, fingers splaying to take it whole and tingles spread from my palm upwards, electrifying every nerve ending, every vein and tendon and ounce of flesh, racing up my arm until I think I will forget how to breathe. Her skin is soft and warm, her handshake putting just the right amount of pressure around my fingers to show her strength without making it a challenge. It takes me a conscious effort to let go, and I clear my throat, hoping nobody noticed, but Costia is looking at me with a smirk. Now is a good time as any to try and bring back the lightened mood.

“Clarke. I am glad Costia found an Omega to take care of her parts. Or should I say other parts to tinker with?”

Everyone just looks at me dumbstruck. I frown and huff at the confused looks. They didn’t get the joke. Was I too subtle?

“Soooo, anyway. Lincoln, you were telling Clarke that it won’t be cheap even with the discount.” Costia rolls her eyes at me and tries to bring everyone’s minds back to the car topic and out of the gutter. 

Not really working, at least with me.  

“Yeah Lincoln, how much?” Clarke asks, lacking her previous confidence and averting her eyes.

“Listen, Dr. Griffin.” I thought the joke was good, but I must have embarassed her and I feel horrible. She narrows her eyes. “...Clarke. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I...” I groan as Costia covers my mouth. Good thing I’m not the kind of Alpha who would take offense at their Omega overstepping. I could playfully bite or lick her palm, or both. I’m very tempted to do so as I can still smell remnants of Clarke’s arousal there, under the soap, sweat and flour?, but it would be unbecoming at the moment, so I just roll my eyes.

“Excuse her, Clarke. She has no game in front of pretty Omegas. don’t you, babe?” She releases my mouth and tenderly brushes her thumb against my chin.

“Not the point, Cos.” I raise an eyebrow at my mate before turning to Clarke. “Look, I know what happened and it’s okay. Costia and I may be mated but we have an agreement. She has been seeking something I cannot give her from another omega. I guess she found it with you.” The blonde looks like she is not quite sure how to reply.

“Gee Lex, I definitely do not need to hear more of that about my sister,” heat rises quickly up Lincoln’s neck and it’s kind of adorable to see him this flustered, “can we just talk about the car?”

“Oh dear brother,” Costia is shaking her head with a toothy grin, “stop acting like you don’t get up to all sorts of dirty, dirty things with Octavia.” 

“Uugh,” he throws up his hands in defeat, and stalks off towards the back of the garage, grabbing tools as he goes. “I’ll know more by the end of the day,” he provides offhandedly, not even bothering turning towards us as he reaches a work table. We all understand that he wants us out of his garage so that he can work in peace. I wave Costia off discreetly and my mate gets the hint, gently plucking at Clarke’s sleeve. 

“Come,” I hear her say as she ushers a protesting Clarke out, “let’s go grab coffee, then I can show you the doctor’s office. Let Lexa get a good price for you. It’s the least she can do after embarrassing literally everybody!” At that Costia throws a backwards glance at me and sticks her tongue out. 

I huff a bit annoyed, but it all melts away when I hear Clarke laugh again.

* * *

 

-Clarke-

I can’t help that I am already growing fond of the way Costia manages to put me at ease with one joke or a touch. That just being around her alleviates the dark cloud that has taken residency over my head. I tell myself to not get attached, that good things never last for me, that I will leave as soon as the car is fixed and never look back. The Omega inside me rumbles its disagreement at the last mental statement, and sinks its teeth into my chest, determined to gnaw away at my resolve. It likes it here and wants me to give it a chance. But chance has never been my ally. When things are too good to be true, it’s because they usually aren’t. So I rein my wolf in. I am in charge and I say that we have to look for ourselves first, regardless of the pulls we might feel.

The town seems small, typical even. The usual church, police and fire stations, town hall with a flowery park, fountain and statue of some town pioneer I’m sure. You would think such small town would be quite calm with its retired ladies, gossiping in front of the local grocery shop, as the main life at such hour of the day, but the main road is lively and bustling, dotted with small shops and people of all ages walk around briskly on their errands. Most of the ones I see are humans, but there is a fair share of my kind too. I want to ask Costia what the humans of the town know exactly, but I guess the answer is nothing. 

> If they did know about the Pack living right in their midst, the air would be full of screams and fire. I know this well, I’ve seen it happen. I’ve lived it.

She leads me down a quiet side road which opens into a small square, like a secret well kept unsuspected by the random wanderer who is just passing through, surrounded by stores peddling local craft and a few cafes. I see the one she’s picked for us and can’t help but snort at the name.  _ Howlers’ _ .

“Subtle.” 

Costia laughs, eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“Yeah, Octavia can be a bit blunt sometimes and she found it funny how, I quote ‘the mere mortal will never know how much the name fits’,” she holds the door open for me and winks as I push past her. I stop and turn around just as I’ve crossed the threshold to reach out, surprising myself, and brush her fingers with mine in a silent  _ thank you _ . I just can’t help the fuzziness that seems to fill me up whenever she is close. She offers a bright smile and I can feel myself blush. I let go of her hand and follow her further inside.

The cafe is small and simply furnished, all clean lines, wood and polished metal in equal parts. I guess they put out tables on the square when the weather isn’t this nippy. We are the only patrons, but it’s the lull between the breakfast rush and lunchtime. Honestly I don’t mind, still a bit overwhelmed by my first encounter with Lexa. Overwhelmed by everything that happened since last night if I’m just counting events from this part of the world. So yeah, I don’t mind the calm and respite provided by the empty establishment, I welcome it, even.

“Be with you in a minute!” A voice yells from somewhere in the back, and true to her word, a brunette appears behind the counter before we have time to sit. She’s one of us, my nose tells me, her scent the bland one of a Beta. I relax, but only slightly, and Costia bumps my leg with hers under the table in subtle reassurance as we take a seat.

“What can I...oh it’s you, Cos!” She comes around and bends down to give Costia a hug, “how’s you?” 

“Good, thanks O,” Costia turns to me with another of her affectionate smiles, an arm still wrapped around the brunette’s waist, “Octavia, this is Clarke.”

“Hey,” Octavia inclines her head and smiles, “you are the new doctor, right?” 

I fake an annoyed huff and roll my eyes at Costia, “is there anyone that doesn’t know me already?” 

They both laugh and I join in, unused at feeling so at ease with people I just met, but relishing the sensation. I thought it was something completely lost to me, and I secretly start to hope that maybe my time in Calais, however short it might be, won’t be a complete disaster, even though I know I shouldn’t. 

“So what can I get you guys? Whatever you pick, we have it!” Octavia prides herself. 

I decide to test her as I challenge her affirmation. I settle for an Australian dessert my mother loved to make. My mood sombers briefly before I shake the feeling away. I tap on my chin, like faking being in deep concentration and then I look at her dead in the eye, asking very seriously, “Do you have Pavlova?”

“Come again?” Her eyes switch from me to Costia, clearly taken aback, silently asking for help. But Costia is of no help, choosing to retort, “That’s what she said!” I bite the inside of my cheek because that’s something I actually expected from her and it’s so tempting to laugh out right at Octavia’s gaping mouth. I wait a little longer, not breaking eye contact with an increasingly fidgeting Octavia, before I break into a smile and see her breathe in relief. She glares at Costia when she lets out a full on belly laugh. I wink at the flushed owner.

“Don’t sweat. I’m messing with you. I wouldn’t expect you to have an Australian dish here.”

“Yeah, well...okay. Got me there haha. I could have if I even knew what that was. I was thinking more along the lines of a good ol small town USA food or drinks. Beer perhaps? I mean, it’s beer o’clock somewhere in the world right?” When Costia sniggers at the last suggestion, Octavia throws up her hands defensively in a way that reminds me of Lincoln before Costia concedes and cheers, “Beer o’clock it is!” 

Octavia cheers along and fist bumps the air, “that’s what I’m talking about!” Costia mentioned her brother getting it on with someone named Octavia at the garage. I didn’t make the connection when Costia introduced her, but assuming Octavia is a fairly rare name, this woman must be one and the same. It’s cute that they talk with their hands the same way and I feel a bit of envy burst like a bubble inside my chest. 

“I think I’ll stick to coffee,” I say mildly, Costia nodding along. 

Octavia moves back behind the counter to prepare our drinks and Costia settles on her chair with a sigh. The look she gives me is suddenly serious, and I watch her chew on her lower lip, as she gathers her thoughts. 

“I..” her fingers tap softly against the tabletop, “I’m sorry. Lexa means well, but she’s got the worst timing in bringing things up. I guess we’ll have to talk about it once you’re settled in.” 

“I don’t know if I want to settle in,” I blurt out and then, as a hurt, lost look crosses her face, I add hurriedly, “I’m not saying I won’t...just,” I gesture helplessly at the window that takes up one side of the cafe and the town beyond, “I wasn’t expecting any of this when I came here and truthfully, it’s a lot to take in.” 

> What an understatement, but no matter how hard I try, better words don’t come to mind. There are too many feelings crowding inside my head, and all pull in different directions. I want to flee, my wolf - awoken by the heat - wants me to stay. Its voice is the most insistent, perhaps because I have not listened to it in a long time. And I can’t douse the little spark of hope for a better…. _ anything _ really, that’s burning bright inside my chest. I’m terrified of that spark and the pain it could put me through again. I won’t survive it if something happens again. I’m barely surviving as it is.

I’m also really,  _ really _ mad at Jackson for setting me up. Wait till I get him on a Skype call.

Conflict must be clear as day on my face, because Costia reaches across the table and ghosts two fingers across my wrist. 

“You don’t have to decide now, you know? Give yourself a few days. You can heal here. You’re safe with us. Lexa and Anya and I, we won’t let anything else happen to you.”

I have a feeling she isn’t talking about the bruises from the accident. I want to flinch at her bringing up the other Alpha, but I can’t refute that Anya has been very accommodating since I arrived, I would even dare say respectful, but it’s yet to be proven. Because at the end of the day, I don’t know these people. I could only know for certain if I stayed long enough which I’m not sure I want to. But, as Costia looks at me with longing in her eyes, I relent and concede that I could indeed take a few days to make a decision.

Nodding, I open my mouth to reply but, before I can, Octavia is back. She sets steaming mugs of coffee in front of us, cream and sugar on the side, and places a plate of buttermilk covered pancakes in the middle of the table, the pile of food on it tottering dangerously close to collapse. 

I try to tell her we already ate more than our share, but she steamrolls through my protests, producing two empty plates and cutlery, while Costia watches on with amusement. 

“You look hungry.” That’s all the explanation I get before she moves off busying herself with cleaning and giving us some privacy.

“I certainly do not!” I grumble, glaring after her. My stomach chooses that moment to churn so loudly I clamp a hand over it, hoping it’ll muffle the sound. 

> I don’t remember being this hungry after my other heats, but I do remember that Raven used to make the most amazing omelettes she would treat me in bed with. She always said she wasn’t the romantic type but would never fail to gift me with flowers and kisses as she deposited the plate on my lap. She would just sit there by my side, both of us leaning on the headboard of the bed, an arm around my shoulder, lazily scratching my scalp, looking at me with so much love...I feel my eyes fill with tears as memories of such simple and meaningful mornings come back to life in my mind’s eye, their rich taste coats my tongue and I remember other late mornings where I would defy her suggestion to wait for her in bed just so I could be sitting at the kitchen table and watch her cook for me. She loved cooking for me. My eyes burn as I blink rapidly.
> 
> Fuck.

Costia nudges her leg against mine without speaking and the warmth of her thigh, the touch of her hand on my knee ground me. Thanks to that, I recover quickly and nod to her that I am ok. Well, as ok as I can be all considering. 

She takes my empty plate and spears a few pancakes, dropping them on it.

“Octavia must like you,” she says, pushing food onto her own plate, “these aren’t on the menu, she makes them only for our birthdays and such.” 

I wonder how it’s possible that something as mundane as pancakes isn’t on a cafe menu, but then I take a bite and I am not even aware of the low moan I let out, until I see Costia blush.

> OK- I can be a bit ashamed of erotically eating pancakes I guess, but this stuff is seriously good. If all the food here is so heavenly, I may as well stay and grow fat on it. I won’t be happy, but I’ll have a full stomach. Had I known that someone had entered the cafe as I ate the sugary goodness in total obliviousness, I wouldn’t have let myself moan so openly for it gave the perfect opportunity to have that person force herself into my life. I didn’t know then how much trouble I was in. How much she knowing who I was had nothing to do with gossip and lust.

I hear the foreign smirk before I see it. I sense Costia tensing before I feel it. That hand on my knee squeezing hard, anchoring me for something she knows is about to happen, before I can register the trouble that just entered this safe haven.

I barely have time to gauge the newcomers as I swivel on the stool to better face the tense aura that has invaded the place. Two of them, a tall man with a short beard, man bun and taut muscles on a lean body and a petite woman, tan, brunette, brown eyes and something absolutely animalistic about her. They both sport scars on their faces and their stance is cold and calculated behind the faux air of nonchalance. I deduce they must belong to the same Pack, but a Pack that isn’t this one, before the latter opens her mouth and I feel like throwing up.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? I gotta say, Costia, your town is full of surprises.” The petite woman is tutting like she caught my new friend red handed. “Aren’t you going to introduce us? It would be quite impolite to keep me from meeting the fresh meat. She smells...”  she takes one long, exaggerated inhale then smacks her lips and proclaims, “delicious. ”

Costia is silently glaring at the smirking girl, seemingly thinking of a good comeback to push the smugness back down her throat. As I take a whiff the girl smiles wickedly at me. 

I’ve never smelled someone like her. And I’m not saying it in a positive way. I can’t place the scent. I tempt another more discreet whiff and it’s even worse. My wolf bristles at the weird blend, between dampened alpha and beta  plus an undercurrent of chemicals that I can’t explain. It’s abrasive and repugnant when you focus on it.  It’s an aroma so pervasive I feel the urge to rub at my nose with a sleeve. It clings to me like the humid scent that makes the air heavy and sticky before a summer downpour. 

Then I detect something colder, darker underneath and it sends shivers down my spine.   Whatever the smell, I don’t like it and I don’t like that girl one bit.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Ontari?” Octavia has come back behind the counter without me noticing, fists balled up  as if she expects a fight, or perhaps is looking for one .

“We just came here to eat.” Ontari’s gaze lingers on me, and I avert my eyes, digging the inside of my palms with my nails  until I feel the sting of pricked skin. I know that if I looked I’d surely find bloody half crescent marks . Costia resolutely releases my knee and takes my hand for everyone to see.  Her thumb strokes rhythmically across my knuckles and a fraction of the tension knotting my back leaves as I squeeze her hand just as tight.

“We don’t serve strays.”  Octavia’s voice is flat and she articulates each word carefully through clenched teeth. I hear the beginning of a growl come from somewhere deep inside her chest.

The tall muscle guy lift his arms at shoulder height in a show of peace, sending calming pheromones. The stench of the threatening bitch - I didn’t  need  more than 5 minutes to come to the conclusion that she was one - must have been obscuring his up until now.

“We come under the truce terms, Blake. No need for idle threats.”  He smirks around the words and I would say he’s bored with their little display, except his eyes never rest on one spot for long, clearly assessing possible danger.

“Tell that to your mother. And take your mutt back to where you came from, cafe’s closed for assholes.”

I watch as Ontari laughs and  grabs  a mustard container from an empty table , squeezing it, dropping its content as she approaches the counter, as she comes closer and closer to us. Octavia walks around it and places herself at my side while Costia stands up to  put  herself protectively before me.

Ontari stops then takes a step towards Octavia. 

“Get over yourself, pup. You're all yapping but no bite.”  She smiles and it’s the most cruel, cutting thing I’ve ever seen . “Don't start something you couldn't finish.” After the last word, to prove her point, Ontari squeezes the rest of the bottle out right at Octavia’s feet. Octavia clenches her jaw, teeth grating. She's about to make a move when I catch her wrist to stop her. I have a feeling that Ontari plays dirty. But Octavia still manages to get in her face.

“Wanna test that theory,  _ frikblida. _ ” (impure/bastard)

I don't recognize the language of the last word but given Ontari’s brief offended glare, it must mean something as unpleasant as it sounds.

“What did you just call me?”

“You heard me.”  Octavia thrusts her chin out, somehow managing to make herself look bigger than she is. I feel the spike in adrenaline like the stinging reek of ammonia in my nose, as her wolf prepares to fight. I am still holding her wrist, but I doubt I can keep her away from Ontari if she decides to lunge at her. Still, I tighten my hold, breath hiking up.

That Ontari chick must have caught my sudden intake of air at Octavia’s challenge because the smirk comes back as she turns to me,  almost like she had forgotten about me during their screaming match. Dammit.

She bends close to me and Costia growls.

“You better step back and stay away from her.”

But Ontari doesn't move and grabs a lock of my hair to sniff. I snatch her hand and push it away from me before recoiling as further away from her as the minimal space allows me .

“Or what, Omega? I'm not infringing any laws with her. She isn't part of your Pack. She isn't part of any Pack as a matter of fact. She's a floater. A lonely, lost, little Omega. I could take good care of her.”  A pink, wet tongue flicks over her lips after that statement and I swear to God, I am gonna puke. My Omega rumbles with disgust and suddenly I feel all the anger I’ve kept on lockdown shatter my self-control. It’s a trickle at first, but then it rushes through me like a flooding river no dam could stop. I meet Ontari’s mocking gaze with a glare of my own, and bite out words, quivering with fury.

“What I am or what I want is none of your business. You're disgusting and a bully. Good luck finding a wolf, let alone an Omega, that would want you willingly.”

Her eyes widen a fraction in surprise but, a heartbeat later, she is smirking again, baring her teeth at me in silent promise. 

“Damn, you got fire. I like my Omegas feisty. Soon, you'll be the one begging for me to take you, you'll see.”

“Get out before I make you face uglier than it is already. You too big guy, out. Now.” Octavia places her free hand on Ontari’s chest to underline her words, and shoves the brunette back. Hard. 

“See you around, gorgeous,”  she blows a kiss in my direction and laughs , “Costia, always a pleasure. This isn't over, Blake.”  Her voice lowers to a cold hiss at that and drips with venom. 

Octavia is outwardly unfazed, but I feel her tense under my touch . “Go fuck yourself, Ontari.”

“Been there. Done that. Toodles.”

They leave,  the bell above the door - that now decides to make itself known - jingling cheerfully as they do .

I let go of Octavia’s wrist and heave a shaky breath, trying to calm the hammering of my heart. “Who the hell was that?” I blurt out when I can form words again. I can’t believe I stood up to her. I want to puff out my chest in pride and hide my face in Costia’s neck at the same time.

“Azgeda.” Costia deadpans as if the answer should have been quite obvious. But it doesn't mean a thing to me.

“Who?” I ask again , because Costia’s face is full of loathing and I feel like I'm lacking crucial information that I should definitely know.

“It's a conversation I'd rather have somewhere else.” She says finally, and obviously she means somewhere more private.

“You gonna have to report it to Lexa.” Octavia interjects. She glances down at the mess Ontari had left on the floor and grimaces unhappily. I hear her grumble such a colorful string of curses, that she would make a sailor proud.

“I'll tell her tonight.”  Costia promises.

I look from one to the other, utterly lost. 

> I mean, Pack rivalry is not a foreign concept to me. But what I just saw was way more than a simple pissing contest. It spells DANGER, in a bright, blinky neon sign kind of way.

“What the hell is going on?”  I must sound like a broken record . But I don't like being kept in the dark. Not after everything I already went through.

“Lexa and Anya are best suited to talk about this. I promise you'll get answers at dinner. Now, are you okay to go check the office or would you rather go back to the house?”

Costia stands, still holding my hand and I follow, climbing to my feet. I guess I can wait until dinner time for an explanation. It may make conversation way more interesting, or kill it completely. Either way, I do not have much of a choice, because I can tell from the way she’s standing that Costia won’t say more for now.

“I think I need some air.” Ontari’s unsettling stench clings to me. I can feel it in my nose, under my nails, inside my very body. It's everywhere, and I feel the urge to rub my skin raw and wash my hair again, hoping that a good dose of shampoo will erase the lingering feeling of her fingers.

“Alright, let's go. Bye O.”

“Be safe.” Octavia watches us make for the door with a worried frown. But come on, she can’t seriously suspect they’re hiding behind a corner waiting for us. This isn’t fucking highschool.

“You too.”

We walk back towards the main street and Costia leads me to the doctor’s office, filling the space between us with small talk. She calms me down and I try to get lost in what she tells me of the town’s history and the shops we pass, where I can get clothes - and again she offers to take me - where they make the best lobster sandwiches and stuff like that.

But there is a pinprick of disquiet between my shoulder blades, an itch that digs under my skin. As if I am being watched, stalked, measured. 

When it becomes unbearable, I glance over my shoulder and nobody is looking at me. 

> If only I knew then how right I was to think that someone was out to get me at every turn, maybe I would have been more prepared for what was to come.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dealing with the unwanted visitors, Cosita and Clarke resume their tour of the town. And Anya treats Clarke like a queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We both want to share our apologies for the delay in updating. Life got in the way and inspiration doesn't really follow a schedule. We promise to try not to be as long with the next update.

CHAPTER 6

-Costia-

We didn’t waste much time after the rather impromptu and totally not solicited visit of the Azgeda mutts. Octavia brushed us off when we offered to help clean up the mess Ontari made and basically threw us out of her diner when we finished eating, not that we had much appetite left. I can’t blame Octavia for making us leave and closing early. I could feel the anger rolling off of her, the same that was emanating from me. Fortunately for me, I have the reassuring presence of Clarke, her touch and smell helping me get a grip of the whirlwind wrecking havoc inside me.

I can’t believe Ontari would pull a stunt like that though. I know how impetuous and impulsive she can be but, given the shaky grounds their alliance with us is standing on, one would think to not be so blatantly disregarding decorum when in another pack’s territory. Or rather, I’m surprised it took her that long to show her bitchy side again; everyone knows she hates the alliance and is itching to be at war again, like a good Queen’s lapdog. 

What concerns me most is the fact that they know about Clarke and the threat such information in their hands represents. I don’t want her to be caught in the mess that is the tensed political relation between the Ice Nation pack and ours. I thought Clarke would fire questions upon questions about what went down but so far she’s been awfully quiet. I normally wouldn’t worry about someone being quiet but with Clarke, I can’t help but wonder how much she must be turning around every little piece of information about everything she’s seen and learned since she arrived. I mean, anyone would guess that Clarke is deep in thoughts with that cute frown on her face, but, from the short time I got to be with her, I know it’s more than thinking and overthinking; a quiet Clarke is a planning Clarke. Planning what is the question.

I don’t linger any longer on that thought or at least, I put it in the back of my mind to get back to later as we arrive in front of the office. It’s not much by any bigger town standards yet it’s quaint; it’s a beautiful old brick building that’s been passed down doctors for generations, dating back from the creation of the town if I recall correctly. It has that homey little country town feeling with a white ramp and bright flowers on both sides, the american flag and state sigil softly flowing with the breeze. The see-through front door still has the name of the last doctor on the window, with some golden letters missing. 

The office is barely used these days for lack of an in-house doctor replacement. Nyko, the only full fledged pack healer left, comes in twice a week to offer a permanence for those who can’t go to the next town over and Janet, the secretary/nurse, only works mornings to keep the records up to date, see and/or send the patients over accordingly. It’s not ideal but we make do with what we have. It would sure help if the pack wasn’t as large and scattered or if we had more healers. But we have a big territory over several counties and the years of studies for medicine can be a deterrent for those who don’t want to be away from the pack that long.

This town could really use its own permanent doctor again and I hope that Clarke will accept the position.

I watch her as she takes the outside in, eyes never resting on one single detail for long, but cataloguing everything carefully away, of that I am sure. 

We step up to the door and I fish out the keys Lexa left for me on the kitchen counter in the morning, offering them to Clarke. If this is going to be her office, she should do the honors.

There is a moment’s hesitation on her part, as if opening the door would somehow cement her sticking around, and her hand is a bit cold when she takes the key from me, but then she is turning it in the lock and pushing inside the office first, the old wood of the door creaking at the hinges. 

Inside it’s clean and orderly, the air smelling faintly of medicine and permeated leather from the chairs and gurney. Janet keeps the place spotless, going as far as lathering the wood with varnish every two years to keep it shiny, and I can’t hold back a smile when Clarke wipes a finger on the secretary’s counter before bringing it close to her eyes and grunting in a mix of surprise and satisfaction.

The waiting room is sparsely furnished, more functional than pretty, but still gives the sense that this is a safe place where people come to get better. Clarke feels it too, because as she slowly walks around it, eyes scanning the different posters that advertise immunization campaigns and such, taking in the playpen and toys in the corner for the younger patients, her shoulders relax a little and the weariness that had settled around her since we left Octavia’s lifts. She even seems to step with a lighter gait.

I let her go at her pace, not pushing nor directing her towards the rooms. Not that there are many. She gives a quick once over to the fully stocked supply room, even spares a glance at the washroom. We finally reach the observation room with the adjacent office. I go before her to open up the blinds and as I turn around, I see that Clarke hasn’t crossed the threshold, hesitating in the doorway. She looks weighed down again with a spark of hope in her eyes, like she wants to grasp what’s being offered to her but wary of the implications grabbing such opportunity might bring. Watching Clarke wrestle with herself, I can see, clear as day, the battle between fight or flight.

> I get it - or at least I think I do, since I never really had to run from anything in my life - she’s been fending for herself and constantly on the lookout long enough now that this must feel like some sort of crazy dream, as much trap as opportunity. Making connections, getting attached to people would make it much harder for her if she had to bolt again.

I lean quietly against one wall as she moves around the room, opening cupboards and drawers to take stock of what equipment Jackson left her with that Nyko hasn’t taken as his own. She pauses when she finds a set of surgical instruments, lifting one of the scalpels with care. It gleams, catching the sunlight coming in from the window as she slowly turn it in her palm, fingers moving along the handle. I watch her hold on the instrument tighten as she gets re-acquainted with it, or perhaps a part of her that she had to push to the side when she ran. 

She puts it down with a sigh, closing the drawer with a soft click, and glances at me, eyes a deep, unreadable blue. Just as I open my mouth to say something she speaks.

“You know, I never really knew I chose the right profession until I started working in a general practice.” She pauses, a slight frown appearing on her brow, then crosses the room quickly, pulling out a stool and sitting down, as if the words she is about to say are too heavy to be spoken while standing.

“The doctor I worked with at the time had a deal with the State, so sometimes we got kids from the foster care system,” there is a small smile on her lips, her eyes glint as she remembers how good it feels to help people, “one day a social worker brings in this little girl, six, seven years old with a scraped knee.” Clarke laughs softly and shakes her head, “the girl wanted to be brought to the doctor because in school they told her that’s what you are supposed to do when you get hurt. I ended up having her as my assistant for one afternoon. Doc Reynolds even scavenged an old smock of his and we cut it up so she could dress like a doctor.” 

Clarke hops off the stool and resumes her examination of the room as she talks. “We got a call from the girl’s teacher about a month later. She asked if Doctor Clarke could go and give a speech to her class for job day.” 

“Do you miss it? Helping people.” I ask it carefully, trying not to appear too obvious in my attempt to make her see that she can have it all again if she only decides to give the town a chance. 

“I…” She doesn’t turn to look at me, but the conflict is clear in the way her shoulders tense into a straight line, and the sudden force with which she shuts a drawer, “I do, I think. It made me feel like what I did for my patients made an actual difference.” 

I nod, not telling her that she could make a difference again, because I am sure that she realizes it. The thing is, she’ll have to open herself up to the world again in order to do it, take risks and even though I feel like she started to, at least with me, I don’t know if she’ll be willing. Clarke’s pain smolders inside me, like glowing embers stuck at the base of my spine. My wolf feels it too, and all I want to do is soothe her and snuff out the fires consuming her. 

> I don’t want to lose her, but I know I can’t push. I am an Omega like her and yet she is so broken that even I could become threatening if I am not careful. We could be there for each other in a way no other Alpha could, free from the complications of Pack hierarchy. Lexa was right back at the garage - I have longed for someone like Clarke for a long time.

I am so lost inside my own head that I only notice Clarke is clutching something in a white knuckled grip, because a weird tension suddenly fills the room. My eyes widen as I recognize the bottle of suppressants from the label. I used to take the same brand when I was younger, but the pills messed with my head too much, making my thoughts too quiet. I didn’t like the emptiness that came with the meds. 

Pushing off the wall, I close the distance between us, and my hand closes around Clarke’s, thumb gently skating across her knuckles. She’s shaking, little tremors that start from her hand and travel up her arm and down her back and I fancy I can hear her teeth grind softly as her jaw flexes rhythmically.

“Please Clarke, don’t go back on them.”

“Why not?”

“They numb everything. You become a shadow of yourself.”

“Maybe that’s what I need, so I don’t feel in so much pain all the time.”

I can’t help but feel my heart constrict and pound violently against the pressure the sadness hearing and feeling the hurt in those words brings me. No, I can’t begin to understand all that she went through but I would give anything to offer her a sliver of hope that it’ll get better, that, with time, the pain will simmer and become an afterthought. I tighten my grip around her hand that holds the pills and pull her gently in my arms, our entwined hands coming to rest against my breast. I cup her cheek with my free hand, caressing the skin where tears have long dried and threaten to track anew. 

This is important. 

This moment can make or break Clarke’s spirit for herself and path among us. This is ultimately her choice but I want her to hear my plea. I may not know her pain but I know that nothing comes from ignoring it. It can only bring more pain. So I lay my forehead against her, let her breathe into the rhythm of my calming, beating heart. She closes her eyes. I kiss her temple and stay there as I tell her, “You don’t need those. You don’t need to numb your feelings. You have to feel what’s going on with you and let it run its course, however dark it could get.”

I feel Clarke loosen her grip on the bottle and grip my shirt instead as she inhales deeply, swallowing the tears for a later time. I feel her kiss my breastbone before she detaches. I’m not really sure what it means, if it’s just an answer to my own kiss, a thank you, a sorry. All I know is that I love having her in my arms and providing comfort.

She is back at inspecting the tools. I use her distraction to put the pills back where she found them. I turn back around and once again, I have a whiplash; Clarke has that talent or rather resilience to jump from one state to another in the blink of an eye. And I’m met with a cheeky grin and my confusion must have shown because she swiftly saunters towards me and reveals what brought on the mood change. Clarke has picked up a stethoscope. With muscle memory ingrained from long lasting acquired knowledge, she puts the tips in her ears, warms the piece that goes on the chest and places it above my heart. And I laugh because she looks so serious yet there’s that cocky smirk that makes that moment adorable.

"Is this your idea of playing doctor? Have I been taught wrong all this time? Cause it's definitely not how I play it." I give her a smirk of my own as I trace her free arm with my finger. She swats my hand and moves the chest piece a little.

  
"Shhh let me hear you...strong and steady...” She moves the stethoscope more towards my boob and grazes my nipple with her knuckles. “Sensitive to my touch." Clarke hums and my brain short circuits before I clear my throat to get my bearings and play along.

"My heart is acting up uh. What would be your professional opinion?" I sit on the edge of the furniture behind me and she follows me by stepping in between my legs.

"It would seem you have taken a liking in me." I grab her waist and pull her even closer. She must be hearing my heart thumping stronger and faster. It’s not just her touch I’m sensitive to. She’s so soft and smells so good.

"Medication?" I ask as I lean in, thumbs caressing the bare skin of her hips.

She leans in as well but diverges from where I’d like her to be, her cheek gliding against mine, taking my earlobe between her teeths as she breathes me in. "I’m open to alternative medicine."

"Hmmm I think I've read somewhere that kisses are the best." I can’t help the moan her lips grazing the pulsing skin of my neck provoke. I want to kiss her so bad but I know that in this little game, she’s the one in charge right now. Plain old flirtation. Damn, I think I’m developing a doctor kink.

"Is that so?" She challenges and I see my opportunity to reverse the roles. I circle my arms fully around her lower back. 

"Lemme show you." I’m a breath away from her delicious lips. I can already taste her on the tip of my tongue. I’m about to finally get that kiss when she minutely breaks away. She’s still in my arms but that mouth of hers is speaking instead of kissing. It takes me a few seconds before I realize what she said.

"What about your mate?" She looks uncertain, eyes unsure where to settle between my lips and my own eyes.

"Lexa?" My mind is still playing catch up and by the look she’s giving me, my question appears totally unnecessary. Of course she’s talking about Lexa.

"We have a unique bond. The longer you stay the more you'll see but you were there, you heard what she said."

"So she's not the jealous type?" Clarke bites her lower lip and I refrain from growling like an alpha pup. She’s back to being cheeky and I can understand how Lexa must feel when I do that to her.

I laugh and Clarke grins. "Oh she is but not with you, not like that.” I grow serious again. Clarke needs to know that she has nothing to fear from me, from this. “Do you trust me?"

Clarke then looks at me straight in the eyes and I can read the conviction there. "In any other situation, I would say no. But for reasons I can't explain, I do. I trust you."

I smile. I truly smile. If Clarke hadn’t let go of the chestpiece, she would have heard how much her words mean to me. She trusts me and I intend to keep being worthy of her trust, whatever that entails.

She smiles back a genuine glowing smile. I kiss her forehead and she takes the tips out of her ears before walking away to clean the stethoscope and put it back where she took it. I stay sat in contentment, watching her do what she must and waits for her to finish before grabbing her hand and leading her through the office and out.

Once outside, Clarke pauses beside me as I close and lock the door, not letting go of my hand. It’s a bit tricky but I’d rather manage with a bit of a struggle than part, even for a second, with that tender warmth connecting with mine. I triumphantly turn towards Clarke after successfully handling the door one handed and bring our entwined hands to my lips and breathe a kiss before telling her, "It's gonna be okay."

We descend the stairs and make our way back to the B&B without much haste, simply walking hand in hand through town, the same way we came in. It might be premature to showcase our newly found Omega bond, especially with the renewed threat of Azgeda lurking about, but I refuse to make Clarke a secret and a lie, not among our people; trust is earned and it starts with this truth. She is mine as much as I am hers.

 

-Anya-

“This...this is a lot of food.” Clarke says, eyes widening as I place the roast in the middle of the table. Lexa rolls her eyes in my direction, with her trademark ‘I told you so look’, which I promptly ignore, even as the wooden table seems to groan under the combined weight of all the food. 

> Ok - alright, perhaps I went a bit overboard, but I wanted Clarke’s first dinner with us to be something special. I want her to know that she’s being welcomed into the Pack if she decides to stay. And not simply as a Pack member, but also a friend… a mate, hopefully. My mate. Beside the roast there’s a vegetarian casserole, a chicken breast salad and Lexa made her famous pasta with salmon. She’s been laughing at me all morning for the way I’ve fretted about what Clarke may or may not like, until I got so fed up with her teasing that I sent her to buy garlic bread. And brownies. Nevermind that the freezer has been basically taken over by more Ben & J’s that all of us could eat in a week. In the end she’s had to sit me on the couch with a cold beer, forcing me to relax a little because apparently, I have been so nervous my pheromones have been stinking up the house.

“Well,” Costia elbows Clarke playfully and they share a grin, “we won’t have to cook for a week thanks to An!” 

Clarke meets my eyes, suddenly serious, and my heart skips a beat. Her thank you is barely audible, but it warms my heart like the fire roaring in the living room warms my body. My mouth is so dry I can’t properly reply, and I can’t swallow the lump in my throat, so I merely nod, kind of jerkily and, out of the corner of my eye, I see Lexa gaze at me, a gentle, encouraging smile gracing her lips.

We start to eat, passing the plates around and the meal is quiet, save for the sound of cutlery and the occasional satisfied sighs as we savor the different dishes, the words that we exchange hushed and short as if we’re all content to just  _ be _ with each other.  

Pride makes me puff my chest when I see that Clarke takes another helping of my roast and, perhaps feeling observed, she grins at me around a mouthful. I blush at being caught and drop my eyes to my own plate, poking at a bit of pasta with my fork suddenly flustered. I catch a glimpse of Costia offering Clarke a bite from her fork, the Omegas giggling and falling against each other, shoulders shaking, and the warmth inside me sharpens with jealousy. 

I can’t understand how Lexa can take their rapidly growing bond so calmly, while both I and my wolf are full of disquiet because of it. What if Clarke decides to stay, but because of Costia and not of me? What if the other Omega takes up her whole heart before I can carve a little space for myself? And Lexa...Lexa is indulging them, and a small voice inside my head whispers that the other Alpha may want to claim Clarke the same way she claimed Costia and that I will be left with nothing. 

> I had started to confront Lexa about it as we sat on the couch after preparing all the food, but the girls came back before I could really talk about my fear. I am an Alpha, and no Alpha likes to admit they are afraid. And I don’t like to admit that I am scared that Clarke won’t want me because she will see me as weak when she will know...when she will hear... It still haunts me that I couldn’t protect Gustus and I am terrified I won’t be able to protect Clarke.

I am so lost in my own gloomy thoughts that Costia’s words don’t register immediately, but Lexa is leaning forward across the table, suddenly tense, and that makes me focus. And when Ontari’s name is dropped between us, the very air seems to drop in temperature by several degrees. 

I crack, and even as I stand, I know that my sudden aggression isn’t the right reaction. I see it in the way Clarke shrinks back into her seat as I snarl, demanding that Costia relates their run in with Azgeda word for word. The blonde is breathing too fast, my pheromones lashing at her senses, and I try to rein back my anger, but it’s too late. 

Clarke mutters an hurried excuse, bolting towards the kitchen and, in the house’s quiet, we hear the back door open and close. 

“Wow, good job, Anya.” Costia glares as she stands, obviously intending to follow. Lexa raises a hand, casting a warning look towards her mate and I swallow back the snide reply burning the tip of my tongue, doing my best to de-escalate the situation before we all say things we’ll regret. 

“I’ll go check on her,” I murmur, unable to hold their gaze any longer, “I caused the mess, I’m gonna fix it.” 

  
  
  



End file.
